


Gaudete

by silverfoxstole



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Christmas, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erik and Christine are married, F/M, Family, Fluff, Follows the stories Beyond the Green Baize Door and The Garish Light of Day, Friendship, Garish Light of Day universe, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 50,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28089099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverfoxstole/pseuds/silverfoxstole
Summary: When the doctor prescribes a holiday for an overworked Erik, a festive family trip to London seems like the best solution.
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This story follows on from my works _Beyond the Green Baize Door_ and _The Garish Light of Day_ , both available at ff.net.

"For me? Oh, thank you, _thank you_ , Tante Teddy!"

The little stuffed horse, as white as snow with a black flash across its face and matching fetlocks, almost went flying as his new owner threw her arms around Theodora Merriman's neck. The silver bells stitched to his bright red harness tinkled and Teddy steadied herself before she was bowled over with childish enthusiasm. "All the way from Fifth Avenue," she said, returning her goddaughter's kiss. "Only the best for my girl."

"Don't tell me you had poor Jimmy doing your Christmas shopping while he was in New York," Allegra's mother remarked, amused, as she poured the tea. "Didn't he have enough to do?"

"Why not? He was there, the stores are there... never waste an opportunity," Teddy replied with a wink.

"Teddy, you are incorrigible."

"And you still haven't given me an answer," came the retort. "Come on, Christine, you know you want to. Just take a risk for once in your life; it'll be so much fun, all of us together in London. You'd love it, I know you would!"

Christine Claudin, née Daae, couldn't help laughing. Talking to Teddy at times was like trying to have conversation with a traction engine; no matter what anyone said, she just kept on, steamrolling over all objections. "It's a lovely idea, and I've said as much every time you've suggested it, but it's impossible! I can't cross the Channel with a three year old; Allegra's far too young!"

"Nonsense!" Teddy declared with a wave of the macaroon she was holding. She took a bite and added, "It's only twenty-one miles. People go backwards and forwards every day with children of all ages. It's not as though I've asked you to jump on a ship to the States, though please be aware that that _will_ happen one day. Your husband needs to see the Met."

"Teddy - "

"It's a couple of weeks in a very spacious and comfortable house in the West End, all expenses paid. Jimmy will be over there to settle me in, but he won't mind coming back; he'll escort you. You won't have to do a thing, not even lift a finger!"

"Teddy, we _can't_!" Christine cried, wondering whether her words were even registering with the little diva. "You _know_ we can't! Erik's too busy; the managers would have a fit if they found out they were losing him as well as you, and right on top of Noël, too!"

"Oh, they'd cope perfectly well." Teddy shook her head, the feathers in her typically extravagant hat bobbing. "In fact, they need to learn to manage without Erik. It sometimes seems as though he's running the whole place; everywhere I look he's popping up, changing this, supervising that. I even caught him keeping an eye on the boys sticking up the new posters yesterday! Surely that's not his job?"

"I wish you would tell him that," Christine said, raising the teapot in query and refilling her friend's proffered cup. Before Teddy could interject she added quickly, "He's not getting on well with Louise Labouchiere at all; she's completely taken over rehearsals."

Teddy shrugged. "Well, she does know _The Marriage of Figaro_ backwards; she's sung Susannah all over Europe."

"Precisely. She thinks she knows better than Erik and it's driving him mad. All he's talked about since she arrived is how dreadful she is, how she won't take direction and ignores the rest of the cast."

Allegra glanced up from where she was lying outstretched in front of the fire, trotting her new toy across the hearthrug. Next to her, Bruno the spaniel grunted as the horse's leather hooves tickled his back, making their way up and over to the other side. "Papa said she called him a goblin," she observed.

Christine jumped. "Who called your father that?"

"The nasty lady. I heard him tell Uncle Jimmy." The horse gave a quite convincing whinny and came to a halt by her feet. Allegra frowned. "Why would anyone say Papa was a goblin?"

Teddy and Christine exchanged a look. "People say lots of horrible things, darling," Christine told her daughter, reaching down to ruffle her burnished curls. "It's usually because they don't understand."

"And sometimes it's just because they _are_ nasty," Teddy added. The clock on the mantelpiece struck the half hour, echoed by the others around the house; the effect was almost musical, and Christine had a feeling Erik had somehow deliberately timed them that way.

"Teddy!" she chided, only half in jest.

"It's true! Where is our great maestro, anyway?" the prima donna asked. "It's gone seven and rehearsals were over when I left; shouldn't he be home by now?"

"Papa's late again," said Allegra darkly. "He's _always_ late. That's what Maman says."

Teddy raised an eyebrow. "Does she now?"

Startled, Christine reached over for the bell. "I think it's your bedtime, mademoiselle," she told Allegra, who shook her head, clutching her horse.

"I want to show Papa Cesar! _Please_ , Maman! I'm not tired," she insisted, climbing onto her mother's lap. "Let me stay with you."

Christine kissed the top of her head. From this angle she could just make out the purplish birthmark on Allegra's scalp that was usually hidden by her hair. It was the only trace of Erik's deformity that she had thankfully inherited. "You can show Papa in the morning." The parlour door opened. "Go with 'Thilde now, there's a good girl. I'll be up shortly to tuck you in."

"Papa won't be here in the morning," Allegra groused, but she slid down anyway, hugging Teddy again on her way past.

"Chloe is asking if she should start supper, Madame," Clothilde said, taking the little girl's hand. "Will Mademoiselle Merriman be staying?"

"Ask her to leave it another half an hour, please, Clothilde," Christine replied as Teddy shook her head.

The maid nodded, too discreet to ask questions, and withdrew, taking Allegra with her. Usually Christine didn't like leaving her child to others, but when the faithful Chloe's sister had come to help out nearly a year ago she had been grateful for the girl's experience with her younger siblings; Allegra had taken to her immediately and so Clothilde ended up adding unofficial nanny to her other duties. As her daughter's chatter faded away, there was silence in the room for some minutes. Christine refilled the teacups, rearranging the biscuits on their plate and feeling Teddy's sharp eyes on her. Her friend knew that something was wrong without a word being said, but she wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or not. For days she had been fighting with herself, wondering whether or not to confide her concerns.

"Do you really _have_ to go to London, Teddy?" she asked, making Theodora jump at the sudden desperation in her tone. She tried to bite it back, doing her best to smile even though just at that moment she really didn't feel like it. "I mean, we'll all miss you so much. Would Covent Garden really mind if you stayed?"

"Probably, given I've just signed the contract." Teddy frowned. "Christine, you sounded just then like a woman on the edge. Is everything all right between you and Erik?"

Christine dropped her gaze, fiddling with the teacups. "What makes you ask?"

"How about the way you went rigid when Allegra said he was always late? You should know by now that hardly anything gets by that child; anyone would think she was twice her age."

With a sigh, Christine abandoned the tea tray and stood, pacing across the rug. She stepped over Bruno, who whined, objecting to the skirts that nearly swamped him. He rolled over, flopping back down with a huff. "I do know. She picks up on everything that's said, and she understands so much of it, too. Erik was precocious, too, his mother told me; sometimes it's almost frightening."

Teddy watched her move around the room. "That's not what's bothering you, is it? Your daughter's canniness isn't news. Given her parents I'd be more surprised if she _didn't_ drop non sequiteurs into the conversation."

"Oh, Teddy, it's such a mess!" Christine exclaimed, making Bruno jump. He barked, sharply, annoyed. She shook her head, twisting fingers into her hair. "You're right; I'm worried about Erik. Since he took on all that extra work at the opera I hardly see him; I can't remember when we last sat down to dinner together, or breakfast for that matter. He's usually dressed and gone before I'm even awake. I can count the number of actual conversations we've had over the last few weeks on the fingers of one hand."

"Christine, you know what he's like; he gets caught up in what's happening. Music's his lady love – after you, of course," Teddy added with a swift smile. "And there's been a lot going on: a new soprano, Monsieur Reyer coming down with the influenza and that unfortunate business with Christophe Fortier - "

"That's the trouble. Erik's thrown himself into solving the problems and the managers are just letting him. It's easier for them; they don't have to hire the people they would need to replace while Erik can do it all. Oh, I'm not concerned about the orchestra so much," Christine said before Teddy could interrupt. "He could direct them standing on his head."

"That's something I'd like to see," Theodora muttered dryly.

"It's all the other responsibilities. Since Monsieur St Clair decided to retire he's taken on the artistic direction, and when the scenery collapsed and nearly killed two of the ballerinas he insisted on making a thorough inspection of the fly floor and mechanics. He knows the building so well it's perfectly sensible he be the one to do it, but even so..." Crossing the rug again Christine wished it was not raining so she could go outside and properly walk in the garden; though she loved her home it suddenly seemed as though the walls were closing in on her. She needed air.

"It's funny," Teddy observed, "If I didn't know better I'd think your husband built that theatre. He seems to know every nook and cranny."

Christine smiled weakly; the prima donna had no idea how close she came to the truth. She had never let Teddy into Erik's past as the Phantom; despite their friendship it had always been an unspoken agreement between those involved never to reveal the secret to anyone else. "He's very… thorough."

"Don't I know it! I haven't been on the receiving end of his direction for the last four years without discovering that!" Shaking her head Teddy patted the sofa beside her. Reluctantly Christine sat; apparently relieved she had ceased to invade his space, Bruno shuffled towards her, resting his head on her feet. "Christine, men work hard. Some of them. It's just what they do. They're built to be providers."

"Do they all end up wearing themselves to the bone?" Christine asked, her tone sharp. Teddy blinked in surprise. "You didn't know Erik before, Teddy. He hasn't always been as stable as he is now; he's always been prone to passions, obsessions. When I first met him he lived on virtually nothing but music. He hardly ate or slept; sometimes it was impossible to understand what kept him alive. He's been so much better since we got married, and I was so happy that he was actually putting weight on! It seemed like a miracle. But now…" Christine looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap, and forced herself to take a deep breath. "I don't want to take something he loves so much away from him, but to see him sink back to that..." she said softly. "I couldn't bear it."

"Oh, sweetheart, I understand. But he needs to see that the things he loves most are right here," Teddy said firmly, putting an arm around her shoulders and giving her a squeeze. "The opera can go hang; make Messieurs Marigny and Fontaine spend some money on proper staff. It's you and my goddaughter that are important! I always thought Erik knew that. I never saw a man happier than him on your wedding day. And then when Allegra was born... hell, I thought he might burst with pride!"

"Oh, he loves us, I know he does. More than anything. It's just that - "

Teddy released her, arching a perfectly-plucked eyebrow. "The big lug has somehow managed to forget that he's the luckiest man alive?"

"Perhaps." Christine had to laugh at that. "Teddy, your way with words - "

"I've got you to smile, and that's the important thing. And when our maestro gets home I'll have a few choice ones for him."

"No, Teddy, please don't." Christine caught hold of her friend's hand as she stood up and Teddy glanced down in surprise. "He won't take it kindly and I see so little of him..."

She trailed off but Theodora must have got the message as she nodded. "What a fine tangle this is! Maybe you should come back, restart your career," she suggested, possibly only half in jest. "I don't doubt your man would be happier directing you instead of Louise Labouchiere!"

* * *

The clock had just struck a quarter past nine and Teddy was getting up to leave when the slamming of the front door finally announced Erik's return.

There was a brief pause and then the sound of feet pattering down the stairs alerted Christine to the fact that her daughter had not gone to bed as instructed. As she emerged into the hall Allegra flew across the room, Cesar the horse clutched in one hand and ribbons that had once been neatly tied streaming behind her. "Papa! Papa!"

Clothilde, slightly out of breath after the evident race down the landing in which she had just taken part, lunged after her. "I'm sorry, Monsieur, she wouldn't stay in bed - !"

"It's alright, Clothilde. Bon soir, petite." Erik sounded tired but he still caught his daughter as she flung herself at him, lifting her up and not seeming to notice that her woollen robe was immediately soaked by the water Christine was alarmed to realise was streaming from his overcoat. His hat was similarly drenched, the brim bedraggled and dragged out of shape by the rain that had been pouring down all evening. "Have you been good today?"

"I know all the words to _Alouette_ ," she informed him proudly. "And I ate all my peas, even though I don't like them."

"That's my girl." He dropped a kiss on her curls. "Where did the horse come from?"

"Tante Teddy! He came all the way from America! I don't have to keep him for Noël, do I, Papa? Please? He'll be lonely if I put him in the cupboard. If I leave him on the shelf Monsieur Bear and Jacques the rabbit can keep him company, can't they?"

It seemed her childish chatter was becoming a little too much, as Erik only nodded, his eyes closing briefly. Christine stepped forward, holding out a hand.

"Come on, young lady, it's _well_ past your bedtime now. Say goodnight to Papa, and Clothilde will read you a story."

Allegra pouted. "I want Papa to read me a story. 'Thilde can't do all the different voices."

"I'll read to you tomorrow, sweetheart," Erik promised. "Papa has had a long day."

The pout became a frown. "That's what you always say now." She peered up into the shadow cast by his hat and tapped a pudgy finger against his mask. "You're wearing your sad face again!"

With a sigh, he put her down. "Papa has to wear his sad face outside, petite, you know that. Other people don't like my real one."

"Other people are silly," Allegra stated firmly. "I don't like your sad face. Take it off." She reached for his mask but Erik caught her hand.

" _Bedtime_ ," he said, the edge to his voice enough to startle her into obedience. She blinked in surprise for a few moments before standing on tiptoe for a kiss. This time Erik lifted the mask himself, kissing her cheek and her forehead before beckoning Clothilde forward to take her charge. "Goodnight, you little monkey."

"A Persian monkey!" she called, giving Christine a big kiss on her way to the stairs. "A Persian monkey playing the trombone!"

Erik looked confused. "A trombone?"

"Yesterday it was a trumpet. Tomorrow it will probably be a bugle," Christine said, amused despite herself. "I think there is now a whole orchestra of monkeys."

"And how did she come to know about the music box?" he enquired as she helped him out of his saturated coat. It dripped all over the floor. Glancing down she saw that his shoes and trousers were soaked too.

"I might have mentioned it once or twice. Erik, you're wet through!" she told him, dismayed. The rain had even made it down to his jacket, darkening the shoulders. "What happened?"

"There wasn't a cab to be found in this infernal weather, so I had to walk. My umbrella broke not long after I left the station." He removed his hat, glaring at the shapeless mess it had become. Christine didn't miss the shiver that ran through his thin frame as he felt the cool air of the hall.

"You walked all that way in torrential rain?" Christine exclaimed. "It's nearly four miles! Why didn't you telephone?"

"You know I dislike those things." He was swaying on his feet, she could see, though he seemed not to notice. "Besides, what could you have done?"

"Teddy is here; she could have sent the carriage for you. Oh, Erik! You need a hot bath, this instant!"

"Christine, please don't fuss," Erik said quietly, his attention caught by something over her shoulder. She glanced round to see Teddy herself on the parlour threshold, one brow raised enquiringly. Christine shook her head ever so slightly and the little diva slipped away, closing the door behind her. Now was not the time for Teddy to give Erik a piece of her mind, however much he deserved it. "I'm perfectly fine."

"You don't look fine," she told him, wiping the raindrops from his mask with her handkerchief. She assumed he had replaced it from long-ingrained habit for he rarely wore it in the house now unless in the presence of strangers. The porcelain looked perfect in the gaslight, only accentuating the weary aspect of the uncovered side of his face. A dark circle hung from his left eye, a constant presence of late, the lines of age and care deeper than usual. He looked older than his forty-nine years. "I've told you before: they are working you too hard. To expect you to deal with so much - "

Erik took her hand, stilling her ministrations and gently kissing her fingers. "No one is making me do anything I don't want to. I _like_ having this level of control."

"I know you do, my angel, but don't forget that others have calls upon your time. Your wife and daughter for example. We would like to see you sometimes." Her tone was sharper than she intended. He said nothing however and Christine could have screamed. She hadn't meant to bring this up now but one look at his exhausted face brought all her fear and frustration bubbling back to the surface. "When was the last time you read to Allegra? Took Bruno for a walk? Spent more than five minutes in bed with me without falling asleep?"

He flapped a hand for her to lower her voice, nodding towards the closed parlour door. "It is only until the Christmas season is over, I told you that," he insisted. "There is too much to be done for me to back out now. Once Eugene is better and we are free of the dreadful Labouchiere everything will be well. Rehearsals are such a battle it almost makes me feel nostalgic for the days of Carlotta!"

It was an obvious attempt at a joke but Christine was not in the mood. "And what about all the other things you're having to take care of? I know you didn't come to bed at all on Saturday," she informed him, and saw his eyes roll heavenwards. "You slept draped over the piano again. You are running yourself into the ground!"

He shook his head, eyes narrowed. "We're not going through this again. I'm going to get changed and then I have some more work to do."

"No, Erik, I am not going to let it go this time!" She clung onto his arm, not caring that Teddy might hear them, and was alarmed at the tremor she felt run through his frame. "I am your wife, Allegra is your daughter! We would like to see you, to spend time with you!"

"Christine, let go." Erik tried to pull away, but as he did he staggered, stumbling against the hall table. Christine realised the strange noise she had just registered on the edge of her hearing was the sound of his teeth chattering.

"We need to get you warm," she said, her anger dissipating in a moment. Turning, she shouted down to the kitchen, "Chloe! Chloe, come quickly!"

Erik batted her hands away as she tried to undo the buttons of his wet jacket, straightening himself with the support of the table. "Christine, I am perfectly all right, just leave me be - " He got three paces, Christine still hanging onto his lapels, before he shuddered and quite suddenly fell to the floor, collapsing like a folding back-cloth. With a cry of alarm she was just in time to stop his head hitting the marble slabs beneath him.

" _Erik_! Oh, dear God... Chloe! Chloe, where are you?"

The commotion brought both the maid and Teddy running. Erik was still just about conscious, muttering and ineffectually trying to push them all away as they managed to get him back on his feet and steered him towards the staircase. It was not easy for three relatively small women to support a man well over six feet tall but they did it, lowering him down onto the bed before Chloe hurried off to warm blankets and nightclothes before the fire.

"You stupid, stupid man," Christine scolded, shaking her head at the breath of an apology he offered as she loosened his cravat and unbuttoned his waistcoat. "You could have caught your death of cold!"

"They're all the same," Teddy observed. "No sense in any one of 'em."

Erik snorted faintly. "That's a rather... sweeping observation... even for you, Theodora."

She fixed him with a hard stare. "Think about your actions lately and then tell me I'm wrong."

"Teddy, would you run a bath, please?" Christine asked, sensing that an argument was brewing despite Erik's weakened state. Theodora bustled off, leaving Christine to finish stripping her husband of his wet clothes and wrap him in one of the warmed blankets. He gave a deep, shuddering sigh as she rested the back of her hand on his mangled forehead, the mask discarded on the bedside table.

"Your temperature is up," she said, and he groaned. "I only hope you haven't caught the influenza." She looked down at him, shivering beneath the blanket, with mixed affection and exasperation. "I do wish you would listen to me."

"I do," he rasped. "I always have."

"Not lately." She lowered her voice, despite the fact that Teddy was unlikely to hear anything above the running water. "Please remember, you are not the Phantom any more. The opera is no longer your responsibility, if it ever was. It is not the most important thing in the world."

He cracked open one eye. "It's not?"

"No. I thought you knew that, but it seems I was wrong."

Teddy poked her head around the bathroom door. "The water's hot."

"Thank you, Teddy. I need to speak to you for a moment; would you mind waiting on the landing?" When the prima donna had gone Christine helped her husband to settle into the tub and left him to soak in the water, almost confident that he wouldn't fall asleep and drown in her absence. She left the door open a crack just in case.

"You were right," Teddy said quietly when Christine met her at the top of the stairs. "That man does not look well."

"Will you ask Georges to go for Dr Lambert?" Christine asked. "I don't want to send Chloe out on a night like this if there are no cabs; one sick in the house is bad enough - "

Theodora raised a hand, cutting her off. "You leave it to me, sweetie. We'll have him back to the grumpy old maestro we know and love in no time, and if we can knock some sense into him as well, all the better." She smiled. "Just you wait and see."

* * *

"Well, I don't think you have influenza, Monsieur Claudin," Dr Lambert announced as he peered at the thermometer Erik had submitted with extremely bad grace to having placed under his tongue. "A slight chill, perhaps."

By the time the doctor arrived Erik was dozing in bed, Christine by his side. The shivering had thankfully stopped but his temperature was still slightly elevated and she could not stop herself worrying. Influenza had been making its rounds in Paris for weeks, and people at the opera had been dropping like flies; Eugene Reyer was still not recovered after nearly a month, and he was a far healthier specimen than her husband.

"Thank you, Monsieur le Docteur. I could have worked that out for myself," the invalid groused, fussing with the blankets. He insisted on wearing his mask, despite the fact that the doctor had seen him many times without it. Christine had noticed him clinging to it more than once for reassurance when he felt vulnerable; as the mask went on, so did his confidence.

Lambert, so used to his patient's eccentricities by now that he paid them no heed whatsoever, ignored him, continuing, "However, you are extremely run down and plainly suffering from exhaustion. When did you last have a full night's sleep?"

Erik's spine stiffened. "I... er, that is..." He frowned, and glanced at Christine.

"Not for at least two months," she said, and he looked away, the left side of his face colouring with embarrassment. "Maybe more. He doesn't sleep these days."

"I do sleep," he retorted, defensively.

She fluffed up the pillows and gently put her hands on his shoulders, easing him back down. He did so gratefully, eyelids fluttering shut. "Sleeping on the piano stool with a crick in your back is not what the doctor means."

"You need to relax, monsieur," Lambert told him. "From what your wife has told me it is plain you are overworked. If you do not allow yourself to rest you risk a nervous collapse."

"I have a whole theatre relying on me!" Erik snapped, eyes opening once more in a freezing mismatched glare. "I cannot just take a holiday!"

"You also have a wife and child; I believe they have prior claim upon you. And a holiday is precisely what I am prescribing," Lambert added, forestalling Erik's objections. "Medicines will do no good; you need complete rest for at least a couple of weeks. Preferably a month." He closed his bag with a snap and eyeballed his patient with a beady stare. "I should think about it carefully, monsieur."

"Thank you for coming, doctor," Christine said, before her Erik could open his mouth to remonstrate. Weak he might be, but his she knew that his temper would still be at full strength and he could be even more intractable than usual when he was ill. "I will see you out."

"He does need complete rest," Lambert advised as they reached the foot of the stairs. "And make sure that he eats properly. A man of his height should not be so perilously thin."

Christine sighed. "I will do what I can, but you know how he can be… difficult. He may not listen to me."

"I am sure you will be able to charm him into seeing what is best for you all," the doctor said with a smile. "The one thing Monsieur Claudin is not is stupid."

 _No, just stubborn and pig-headed at times_ , Christine thought as she made her way back to the bedroom.

Erik was lying against the pillows, the right, masked side of his face presented towards her, his chest rising and falling gently beneath the soft linen of his nightshirt, properly asleep at last. She drew the covers around him, lifting the mask away once more and setting it down on the table, trying to ignore the gauntness of his face, the lack of flesh giving the deformed side an even more cadaverous aspect than usual. His hair was untidy, revealing the thinning spots he usually did his best to keep concealed with clever brushing and pomade, spots that seemed alarmingly to be increasing. She ran light fingers through it and with a start realised that there were new silver strands amongst the dark brown.

How had it come to this, that she had not even noticed that his hair was turning grey? Though they lived in the same house, slept in the same bed, the connection that had once been so strong between them seemed to somehow have broken over the last few months. Since their marriage, since Allegra's birth, she had thought them happy, contented; she had thrown herself into the role of wife and mother, finding fulfillment in caring for her little family, in helping Erik move beyond his past as the opera ghost and into a new life.

And to begin with she overwhelmingly succeeded. Erik's moods improved dramatically; he had, at her request abandoned the mask when around their daughter, and even, to her delight, in the presence of friends. His emaciated frame began to fill out, the result of good food and regular hours, neither of which had been plentiful during his time in the fifth cellar. While he would never be the weight his height suggested he looked more like a normal man than a phantom, colour in his naturally pale cheeks and some desperately needed flesh on his bones. The sharp planes of his face even began soften and he was starting to become barely recognisable as the spectre who had once haunted the theatre. Now, however, as she gazed down at him she was forcibly reminded of those lost years, of the madness, the sleep and sustenance he had denied himself for so long when he had devoted himself entirely to music and cared little, if anything at all for the necessities of life.

Was it her fault? Was it true, as Teddy had implied, that Erik would rather she was there with him at the theatre than in their home, with their child? Had it been a mistake all along to retire, even though he had agreed that she would? She had hardly even realised that she had stopped singing, that they no longer made music together. Initially they had attempted to continue her lessons, to keep the instrument Erik had painstakingly trained in good order, but as the demands of work and baby increased finding time for themselves began to become impossible and it had been far too easy to let things slide. For the first time Christine found herself wondering whether maybe Erik was throwing himself into the concerns of the opera because he could no longer find the same passion for music, the passion they both used to share, with her.

She sat down heavily on the bed beside him her head whirling. Erik reached out, his thin fingers finding hers unerringly, squeezing them tightly as he slept. Christine squeezed them back, thinking ruefully that this was the longest she'd had him to herself in weeks.

* * *

She woke at some point in the small hours to find herself alone in the bed. She felt the sheets on Erik's side but they were cold; he had not been there for some time.

Rolling over, she stared at the ceiling in the dark. For a few short hours she had thought he might actually have listened and decided to take the doctor's advice, that he might return to being the sensible, practical, thoughtful Erik she had married rather than the consumed, obsessive Phantom she thought he had left behind. It seemed she had been wrong. Perhaps it was not so easy to discard part of yourself after all.

Tears prickled in her eyes. This was not the way she had expected their marriage to turn out. Reaching over to the other side of the bed she pulled Erik's pillow towards her, breathing in his comforting scent; a mix of wood spice, hair oil and something else entirely unique to him. Wrapping her arms around the pillow and hugging it to her she curled up like a child, burying her face in the soft down, suddenly desperate for reassurance.

It was then that she heard the music.

Though sometimes of late she could hear snatches of Mozart through the floorboards, by now she was thoroughly sick of _The Marriage of Figaro_ and for the last few months Erik had rarely, if ever, played just for himself. Until this moment she had not realised how much she had missed his music, that special music they had once shared. The tune was simple, mournful, and she found herself drawn towards it as she had always been in the past, slipping on her wrapper and padding downstairs as the clock in the hall struck three.

There was a faint light under the door of the music room and it was there that she found him, sitting at the piano wrapped in his dressing gown of black quilted velvet, a sleepy Bruno at his feet. Christine stood silently in the doorway for a while, just watching him as his fingers meandered across the keys, his eyes closed. There was a key change, a minor chord, _adagio_ , _pianissimo_ , until it finally faded away and all that was left was the ticking of the ormolu timepiece on the mantel, loud in the resulting silence.

He knew she was there. He always knew. "I'm sorry, Christine," he said, and without turning he held out a hand to her. She took it immediately, sliding onto his lap and resting her head on his bony chest, noting sadly how pronounced his collarbone had become. He ruffled her hair. "I'm a foolish old man."

"Not so old."

Erik chuckled, a sound she was so glad to hear. "Not so young, either. But old enough to know better, and too old to behave as I have been." She felt the ridges of his twisted cheek as he rested it on the top of her head. "I _am_ sorry."

"I know," Christine said, and she meant it. Apologies did not often fall from her husband's lips; when they did come they were heartfelt, and to be cherished. "Erik, we can't go on like this. You're making yourself ill."

"It's all right, my love, I'm far tougher than I look."

"Only up to a point. But if you don't care about yourself, think of me," she told him seriously. "Do you really want to worry me to death? I hate seeing you come in every day with the world on your shoulders, never having the energy to play with Allegra. She's growing, changing all the time; soon you won't recognise her."

"I know, and I hate the fact that we're always apart," Erik admitted quietly. "I never really wanted it to be this way, it has just… happened. Problems arose, one thing led to another, and suddenly there I was, trying to do everything."

"You may be a genius, my angel, but even you are not capable of that," Christine looked up at him; in the dim light his expression was frustrated. She gently touched his chin, turning him to face her. "We need you too, you know. The house has been so quiet; I hadn't really noticed how much until I heard you playing just now. It was beautiful."

"I can't remember when I last played anything of my own choosing. It seems like years. My mind is full of Mozart, and that dreadful _Cleopatra_ travesty Hector Chalumeau has inflicted upon us." He frowned. "Was I beginning to teach Allegra?"

She couldn't help smiling as she recalled her husband and daughter sitting together on the piano stool, Allegra on her father's knee as he guided her little hands towards the keys. The result had been predictably discordant but the happiness of both had been clear, loving the experience of making music together, especially when Erik let Allegra rest her fingers on his as he picked out a simple tune, allowing her to feel as though she was playing herself. "Yes, you were. She has been missing you terribly."

"As I have missed her," he said. "It must have been weeks since I last read her a bedtime story."

"And whose fault is that?" she enquired, and he groaned. "Erik, I know it hasn't been easy for you to adjust, but we are a family now. That will always come first, before music, before the opera, before everything. You are no longer alone; everything you do affects all of us: you, me and Allegra. Do you understand?"

There was a long pause. Feeling defeated, she rested her head against his chest once more, but at length she felt him nod against her hair. His long fingers stroked her arm, giving her goosebumps, and she realised just how much _she_ had missed him, missed his touch. "Can you forgive me?"

"Always," Christine told him without hesitation, the knot of worry that she had been carrying in the pit of her stomach for the last few weeks loosening a little. "But, Erik, you _must_ take better care of yourself, for your sake and ours. What would Allegra and I do without you?"

There was a sharp intake of breath and she looked up again to see him staring at her in horror. "Without me - ! You will not have to! Don't say such ridiculous things, Christine!"

"Then don't _do_ such ridiculous things," she retorted. "Think of us, not the Populaire."

Erik sighed. "It seems old habits die hard."

"Only if you let them. And for what it's worth, I miss the music _we_ used to make, too." Christine settled back into his embrace, his arms tightening around her as he kissed the top of her head. The hall clock chimed the quarter hour, Bruno yawned and slapped his tail lethargically on the rug. Listening to Erik's heartbeat for the first time in weeks was enough to lull her so sleep.

"You're right, of course," he said eventually when she almost had nodded off. "I _have_ allowed it to consume me. For so long the opera was the centre of my world; it was too easy to become caught up in it once more. That was never my intention."

"You need to learn to step back, to delegate," she suggested. "The theatre is full of capable people now. Just ask Madame. Do you ever see her running herself ragged?"

"I wouldn't need to. She has been telling me much the same thing as you."

"And you didn't listen to her, either." Christine shook her head despairingly. "Oh, _Erik_!"

"You should know by now that I make a point of never listening to Annie," Erik said mischievously.

"Unless she's right."

"Especially when she's right. As she usually is. Such a trait is exceptionally irritating."

There was another protracted silence. A rumbling snore came from the spaniel. Christine was happy to be held, but eventually she felt his arms relax and looked up to see Erik's head nodding forwards. Reluctantly she slid from his lap and touched him on the arm.

"Come on, sleepyhead," she said, as though she was addressing Allegra, "Bedtime."

Blinking owlishly, already practically asleep on his feet, Erik rose from the piano stool and allowed her to lead him from the room. It did not take them long to fall into a dreamless slumber, close together as they had not been for some time.

* * *

The next thing Christine was aware of was daylight streaming through the curtains and then someone shaking her insistently by the shoulder.

"Madame? Madame Claudin, please wake up!"

She jerked awake, eyes flying open to find Chloe bending over her, face creased in concern. Glancing to her left she was relieved to see that Erik was still asleep, purring contentedly through the undeveloped side of his nose. She reached over to feel his forehead and found it thankfully cooler than last night.

"What's the matter, Chloe?" she asked groggily, trying to sit up. She was still in her wrapper, Erik in his dressing gown; she realised they must have literally fallen into bed and not moved since. Her cold toes tingled from the warmth of the fire Chloe must have just lit.

"I'm sorry, Madame, but Mademoiselle Giry is here to see you," the maid replied. "I did not want to wake you but it is so late in the morning that I was getting a little worried, especially after last night. Allegra has been asking for you both."

"Meg? What on earth is she doing here at this hour?" Christine wondered, noticing with some amazement that the bedside clock read twenty-two minutes past ten. "She should be at rehearsal!"

"I took the liberty of telephoning the opera to let them know Monsieur Claudin would not be attending today - " Chloe began, but she was interrupted.

"Christine? Christine!" Meg's voice floated up the stairs, followed by the sounds of her running footsteps. A moment later the bedroom door flew open and the ballerina herself appeared, still in her coat, her hat askew on her blonde curls. She stared at the sight of Christine still in bed, Erik curled up, to all intents and purposes dead to the world, beside her and covered the smile that started to break across her face with one hand. "Goodness me, you two are slugabeds! Am I interrupting something?"

"Hardly." Christine pulled her wrap closer around her and shepherded her friend out of the room. Chloe followed, closing the door behind them, and bustled away. "Why are you here, Meg? Madame will have a fit if she knows you've sneaked out of rehearsals."

"She won't. She knows I'm here. And it's difficult to sneak out of a rehearsal when there isn't one," Meg said incomprehensibly.

Christine rubbed the spot between her eyebrows where a headache was threatening to appear. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"There won't be any rehearsals for a while. The opera is closed. There was an explosion last night."

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

Christine stared at Meg.

"An explosion? Whatever do you mean?"

"Just that. Something in the cellars blew up; Pierre told me the foundations might be unsteady," the ballerina said, taking off her outdoor clothes as Christine shepherded her down the stairs and into the parlour. She seemed incredibly unaffected by the news, as though explosions in the opera house happened all the time. "When Maman and I arrived this morning there were firemen swarming all over the place."

"Oh, my goodness... is the building badly damaged?"

Meg shrugged. "It looked all right from the outside; a couple of windows broken, maybe. They wouldn't let us inside. It's just as well it happened overnight; imagine if we'd all been in there at the time!"

Christine shuddered. "I don't even want to think about it." Memories of the great chandelier crashing into the stage feet from where she was standing rose unbidden to her mind's eye. She could still hear the horrendous sound of the glass shattering.

Behind them the door opened and Chloe quietly brought in coffee and croissants, setting up a table and disappearing with as little fuss as she had appeared. Distractedly Christine found herself wondering if her maid had been taking lessons from Erik in how to move about the house like a ghost. She pulled her wrapper close, accepting a cup of coffee from Meg as her friend fell upon the breakfast tray with enthusiasm. It usually amused her to watch how much food a tiny little person like Meg could put away and yet never burst out of her tutu, but this morning humour was not forthcoming.

"Did they... did anyone mention where in the cellars the explosion happened?" she asked hesitantly. Though he abandoned it some time ago, Erik's house was still down below the opera, all its fixtures and fittings intact: running water, lighting, heating and... gas.

"I don't think so. Not yet, anyway." Meg glanced up and comprehension dawned on her face. "Oh! You don't think Erik - "

Christine's head was throbbing. As if she hadn't already enough to worry about! "I hope not. Everything was turned off and secured when he left, but it's been over four years; someone else could have found their way down there, discovered the lake, and the house. It's too horrible to contemplate."

"Oh, Christine." She must have looked as bad as she felt as Meg was suddenly there, putting an arm around her. "It will be all right. At least Erik wasn't still living down there. The building was empty, apart from the night watchman, and he wasn't injured, just a bit shocked. He said it felt like an earthquake, everything shaking under his feet."

"Who said what felt like an earthquake?" a familiar voice asked. Christine spun round to see Erik in the doorway, still in his dressing gown and rubbing a hand over his unmasked face, eyes bleary from sleep. His hair was sticking up at the back but he seemed not to have noticed; in fact he seemed unusually oblivious to his appearance, a fact she put down to his not being entirely awake yet. Normally he couldn't stand to be seen at anything other than his best.

"You should still be asleep," Christine told him, but he shook his head.

"I've slept quite enough for now," he said, around a yawn which belied his words. "Besides, Meg's voice carries and curiosity got the better of me. What has happened? Is the house falling down?"

"Not this house," said Meg, pouring another cup of coffee. Chloe, with some sort of sixth sense, had put three cups on the tray. Erik settled himself in his big wing backed armchair, prodding the fire that had barely started to get going with the poker. He raised his one serviceable eyebrow.

"Which house, then?"

"The opera house," Christine told him, unprepared despite knowing that the building had been his home for over a decade for the shock which struck his battered features at the news. His eyes widened and his jaw fell open, hands clenching on the arms of the chair. When his voice emerged it was surprisingly small and hesitant.

"Is it... destroyed?"

Meg shook her head, and he deflated with relief, sinking back against the cushions. He listened as she explained, drinking his coffee and becoming much more alert by the time she had finished. "Maman sent me here to tell you; she would have telephoned but even if we could have got to one of the offices the lines are all down around the theatre. She turned white when no one could find you; you're usually there so early that for a while we were worried you were trapped inside."

"How did you know he wasn't?" Christine asked, wondering whether the entire company would have potentially left their chorus master buried under a pile of rubble somewhere within the theatre. Meg seemed remarkably unruffled by the suggestion.

"Jacques is the only person who ever arrives before Erik and he said he hadn't seen him," she replied, in a tone that suggested it should be obvious. She had evidently forgotten that Christine had not worked at the opera for some time and therefore was not aware of the movements of the staff. "He has the keys, so no one else could get in without him." She glanced at Erik. "Unless of course you're still using some of your old entrances to the building..?"

The former opera ghost chose not to answer so instead Christine said, "Is there any chance the gas pipes to your house could have caused the explosion? It must have happened very deep not to cause major damage to the building."

He shook his head. "Everything was thoroughly disconnected before I left. It would have been very careless of me to leave gas turned on with no one to monitor it. And if it _had_ been the gas, far more damage would have been done. Of course," he added thoughtfully, putting down his cup, "it could have been the barrels of gunpowder I kept in a storeroom next to the house. One stray spark..."

There was silence for a beat, and then Christine and Meg squeaked at the same time:

" _What_?!"

" _Gunpowder_?"

Erik smirked, an evil little grin Christine remembered from his days as the Phantom. She fought the urge to slap him. "Only joking."

Meg gave a huge sigh of relief, before flapping her hands at him in consternation. "Ohhh...! That's not funny!"

"No, it's not," Christine agreed. "Erik, how can you tease about something so serious?"

"And what in the world would you want gunpowder for anyway?" Meg asked, curious to the last.

He shrugged. "In case I needed to threaten the whole of Paris in order to convince the woman I loved to accept me. It was quite ingenious, really: I had the barrels wired to one of two bronze figurines on the mantelpiece, a scorpion and a grasshopper. Turn one, and everyone would be safe. Turn the other, and..." He paused, and then clapped his hands, making them both jump. " _Boom_!"

Meg cried out in alarm but Christine just fixed him with a stern glare. "Don't be so ridiculous."

His response was to smile, and poke the fire, sending flames shooting up the chimney. In the ensuing quiet Meg, her appetite never affected for long, started on another pain au chocolat. Christine offered the last one to Erik but he lifted his cup for a refill instead. "To clear my head," he told her when she hesitated, unsure that coffee was entirely good for him at present.

"Maman was worried when you weren't at work this morning, Erik," Meg remarked around her pastry. She gave them both a sidelong glance, lips twitching. "Did you both oversleep?"

"Not exactly," Erik said with a grimace. "It seems I am to refrain from work for at least a fortnight on the orders of that fool of a doctor. _Someone_ \- " He shot a pointed look at Christine over the rim of his cup " – felt the need to call the blasted man all the way out here last night to lecture me."

"That 'someone' had to pick you up off the hall floor," she reminded him. "You were practically dead on your feet."

"I most certainly was not!" he retorted indignantly. "A little tired, perhaps. Nothing more."

Christine couldn't help laughing at that, though there was little mirth behind it. "Listen to him, Meg! My husband, the master of understatement!"

"If you say so..." Meg just looked confused.

"He's to have a break," Christine clarified for her friend. "Complete rest, and no work whatsoever. The opera will just have to do without him."

The little ballerina regarded Erik for a few moments. "Well, I didn't want to say anything in case I was speaking out of turn - "

His brow arched. "When has that ever stopped you? Or your mother, for that matter?"

" – but you have been looking rather peaky lately. Hortense said you were so pale you could be a ghost last week."

"How appropriate," Christine muttered.

"Alphonse commented on it, too," Meg added. "And Marie Durant - "

"Good God, does everyone think I'm ill?" Erik demanded, slamming down his cup. It rattled in the saucer. His gaunt face suffused with anger as he threw himself out of the chair, pacing across the rug. "Is there a daily bulletin on my health making its way around the theatre? Perhaps I should ask the secretaries for their opinion, or the stage hands! Who knows: maybe the box keepers can say what is best for me!"

"It is only because they care, Erik," Christine said, watching him in concern as he moved back and forth, long fingers curled into tight fists. A muscle was jumping in his jaw he had clenched it so hard.

"Christine's right," Meg agreed, and he glared at her. "So many people have been unwell this season, and after the influenza got poor Monsieur Reyer they were only concerned that you might be going down with it, too. They were worried about you." She waited for his pacing to slow as her words sank in before she delivered the coup de grace: "They don't want to lose you."

Erik came to a stop by the fireplace. Slowly he turned to look at them, and the scowl had slipped from his face. In its place was a strange expression that was half surprise, half something Christine couldn't quite work out. Was it wonder? Humility? "They..." His voice cracked slightly and he cleared his throat. "They don't?"

"Of course they don't!" Meg laughed. "We had to stop Marius trying to run into the theatre to look for you earlier. Everyone was wondering where you were."

"That is very... thoughtful of them," Erik said, doubtless even more shocked that cocksure tenor and occasional thorn in his side Marius du Pre would actually want to save his life. He sat down again, waving Christine away when she proffered additional cushions and a blanket. "I suppose I had never really considered that they might... well, that they might... _like_ me." He sounded like a small boy, and from any other man such a confession might seem ludicrous but not one who had lived without a single friend for so long.

"Well, believe me, they do," Meg told him firmly.

"In which case, no one will begrudge you a few weeks' rest," Christine said. "They certainly wouldn't want you to drive yourself into the ground for them."

With a sigh, he nodded, reclining his head against the back of the chair. His eyes closed. "Yes, yes, you may be right."

He said nothing more and silence reigned in the room for some time. Meg drained her coffee while Christine picked at the remains of a croissant; eventually the door opened a crack and Bruno padded in, tail wagging. He sat down in front of Erik, looking up expectantly but no attention from his master was forthcoming; with a whine he laid his head on Erik's lap and after a moment one hand absently scratched him behind the ear. Glancing up at the clock Christine realised with a start that it was nearly noon and she hadn't even got dressed yet. Allegra must have been wondering what had happened to her parents; usually one or the other of them would have had her with them by now.

"I think you should go back to bed, my angel," she said quietly, bending over Erik. His mouth twitched. "Doctor's orders, remember?"

"How could I forget?" Reluctantly he pushed himself out of the chair, pulling his dressing gown closer around his shoulders. "The man is an infernal nuisance."

"I suppose really things have worked out for the best," Meg remarked as he made his way across the room. Both he and Christine stopped to look at her. "After that explosion the opera could be closed for months and it's Christmas in a few weeks. You picked the perfect time for a holiday."

* * *

"You should go," Meg said later, dusting off her hands as she finished crimping the edges of the pastry crust. Stepping back to admire her handiwork she added, "It would do you both good."

Christine opened the range, feeling the blast of its heat on her cheeks. "What would?" she asked, distracted.

"A trip to London." Her friend brought the pie across to her, presenting it with a flourish. It was Chloe's afternoon off and Meg, at a loose end because of the morning's events, had offered to help with the dinner. The result was far too many giggles for a truly successful meal and the pair of them becoming covered in flour; for a while Christine felt as though her worries had been lifted away. Until Meg decided to bring them back down with a bump. "It's the perfect solution."

"Don't be silly, Meg." Christine slipped the pie into the oven and glanced at the clock before turning her attention to the vegetables, reaching for the chopping board and knife. "We couldn't possibly go all the way to London, not with Erik so unwell."

"It's not all that far, and he's worn out, not sick," Meg pointed out. "A few weeks in a posh house relaxing at someone else's expense are exactly what he needs."

"He would never agree. Teddy has already asked him once and he refused point blank to have anything to do with it; that's why she has been working on me instead."

"Ah, but that was when things were different. If you don't want to broach the subject, I'm sure Maman could talk him into it."

"Ow!" The knife blade slid into Christine's finger instead of the potato she was peeling. She sucked on the wound, trying to stem the bleeding. "Meg, I absolutely forbid you to involve Madame! A row between her and Erik is more than my nerves could stand just now."

"Just trying to help." With a shrug Meg brought her a clean cloth. "You're looking tired, too, you know."

"Thank you, that makes me feel much better," Christine retorted, binding up her finger.

"I mean it, Christine; you need a holiday just as much as Erik."

"Yes, I'm sure a few weeks in a city filled with smog will do us both the world of good." She turned back to the potatoes, staring at them for a long moment and trying to ignore the little voice in the back of her head that was asking why she was being so dismissive of a chance to get away from her problems for a while. It was difficult; the voice was very persistent. Much like Meg, really. "Do you think your mother could convince him?" she asked.

Meg looked at her in surprise, before a grin crept over her face. "If I were a gambler, I'd lay bets on it."

* * *

Allegra was on the landing later when Christine took up some food for Erik, a book tucked under one arm and Bruno at her heels. Were she any other child it would be assumed she had been looking at the pictures, but Erik started to teach her to read when she was two and a half and she had come on amazingly since then, showing signs of an intellect that far outstripped others of her age.

"I thought you were watching Papa?" Christine asked, when her daughter glanced back towards the closed bedroom door.

"He's talking to Grandmére Giry. I think she's telling him off," Allegra said, her head on one side. "He doesn't sound very happy about it."

"It's very rude to listen at doors, young lady." Balancing the tray she was carrying on one arm, Christine ruffled the burnished curls that were once more slipping from their ribboned moorings. There was one way in which Allegra did not take after her father, and that was in her attitude to clothes; Erik always strove to be immaculate, while his daughter was quite happy to tumble about the house in a torn dress, stockings covered in mud. "Clothilde is running your bath; you can come back and say goodnight to Papa after supper."

Allegra looked mutinous at the mention of a bath but she turned towards the nursery, calling Bruno after her. Halfway she stopped, glancing back at her mother. "Maman..?"

Christine's hand was on the bedroom door handle. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"Papa will be all right, won't he? 'Tilde said the doctor came, and - "

"And what?" Seeing her daughter's eyes well with tears Christine abandoned the tray and gathered her up, holding her against her hip as she had done when Allegra was a baby even though she was really too heavy for it now. "What's the matter?"

Allegra's lip wobbled. "Doctors only come when people are really sick, don't they? I don't want Papa to die!"

"Oh, darling... Papa isn't going to die. He's just tired, that's all." Christine rocked her gently before pulling back slightly to properly see the little face that was resting on her shoulder. "In a few weeks he'll be as good as new, you'll see."

"Promise?"

"I promise," Christine said gravely, hugging her one last time before she put her down. She crouched until she could look her daughter in the eye. "Your Papa is much, much stronger than he looks. He just doesn't always take care of himself the way he should, that's all. You and I have to make sure that he does from now on, agreed?"

After a brief moment of consideration, Allegra nodded vigorously. "Do you think Papa would like Monsieur Bear to keep him company?" she asked. "He always makes me feel better."

"I think that's a lovely idea. Now run along or your bathwater will be cold. And Bruno is not to get into the tub this time," Christine added, trying to sound as stern as Erik. She knew she had failed when Allegra just laughed and ran off, the spaniel trotting after her, the remains of one of Erik's best slippers in his mouth. Bruno had been devoted to his little mistress ever since she was born, standing guard beside her cradle and growling at anyone who dared to come near. Now he still followed her around the house and joined in mucky adventures in the garden, the latter much to Christine's quiet despair.

As her daughter disappeared behind the nursery door she picked up the tray with its rapidly-cooling contents and became aware of the voices in the bedroom beyond. Despite rebuking Allegra for eavesdropping she couldn't help listening, wondering whether Madame Giry had indeed broached the subject of Theodora's invitation.

"...this season has been a disaster waiting to happen," Erik was saying. "One thing after another has gone wrong."

"In that case, it is just as well that the theatre is closed," the ballet mistress replied. "We can all start afresh in the new year."

"Perhaps. Or maybe we will just be trying to build a better house with the same bad tools. " There was a pause, and then Christine nearly dropped the tray when he said, apparently quite seriously, "I want Christine to come back to the Populaire. We need her. _I_ need her."

"Erik - " Madame began, but he cut her off.

"I spent years training her voice," he reminded her. "It was perfect, the culmination of my life's work, but now she is wasting it, throwing away all that effort! She was made for that stage, to sing those roles. _She_ should be my Susannah, my Cleopatra, not the dreaded Labouchiere! If I have to deal with that woman any more - "

"My dear, you know why she gave up her career. She is a mother now."

"You did not let Meg hold you back," Erik pointed out. "I remember you bringing her to work with you. Even then she was as sharp as a tack; it was difficult to hide from her."

"I had no choice! I would have preferred to keep Meg at home, but Jules was dead and I had to make a living. How else was I to keep us from starvation?"

"You are splitting hairs," he snapped.

"I am doing no such thing! The two situations are completely different! Christine's priority is Allegra now, not the opera, and rightly so. Should she really bring _your_ daughter into the theatre, to allow her to spend her formative years amongst dancers and scene shifters?" Madame demanded. "Allegra should be mixing with those of her own age, not running from drunkards with wandering hands like Christophe Fortier!"

"Believe me, the likes of Fortier would never come close to laying a finger upon my daughter," Erik said in a dangerous tone, and Christine could almost hear the obstinate set to his jaw. "We would manage. Is it so very wrong of me to wish to have my wife at my side?"

"Not at all. Erik - " The ballet mistress clucked her tongue in a familiar gesture of frustration. "This is not news to you; you have been married for over four years," she said. "Though you may have been her teacher it is Christine's voice, not yours; she should be the one to decide what she wishes to do with it. Is it not about time you started thinking of someone other than yourself?"

"If all you did was come here to read me a lecture, Madame, I will bid you good evening." There was exaggerated dignity in Erik's voice; he only usually called Madame by her title when he was angry. Not entirely comfortable with being the topic of discussion and concerned where it might lead, Christine decided it was time to change the subject.

"Dinner is ready," she announced, stepping into the room. Startled by her sudden presence, they both stared at her, probably wondering how much she had heard. "Maybe you can finish this argument another time?"

"It wasn't an argument, just Erik being his usual stubborn self and refusing to take advice when it is offered," Madame replied, earning herself a glare that, had it the ability to burn, could have turned her to ash on the spot. As always, she paid it no heed, getting to her feet with the grace that she still retained from her days as a dancer.

Scowling, Erik moved aside the scattered pages of newspaper that littered the coverlet as Christine settled the tray across his lap. "When I wish for advice, be assured I will ask for it."

"There are none so blind as those that will not see," Madame retorted, gliding towards the door and closing it behind her.

"She is only trying to help," Christine said lightly, uncovering the soup she had brought.

He eyed the bowl with suspicion. "She would do well to stop poking her nose into the business of others. What is that?"

"Why would she change the habit of a lifetime? And it is chicken broth; it will do you good," she told him, sitting down on the edge of the bed to feel his forehead. He tried to squirm away, reminding her of Allegra. It was not easy to gauge his temperature through the lumps and ridges of his deformity, but unlike the previous evening the rough skin beneath her fingers was cool to the touch. "You seem better."

"In that case, surely I do not need this," he persisted, a hopeful glint in his eye.

Christine tapped him on his mangled nose. "Nice try. I expect that dish to be empty when I come back, and not because you've magically made it all disappear into the ether."

With a sigh, he picked up the spoon. "It appears you know me too well."

"Of course I do," she said, and followed the tap with a kiss. "Now, eat up; there's rice pudding for dessert."

* * *

"Goodnight, Grandmére Giry, goodnight Tante Meg."

Allegra went around the dinner table dispensing kisses, Cesar the horse clutched in one hand. Though there was no blood tie between them, Christine and Erik had both been adamant that she should regard the Girys as her family. Christine had no relations and Erik's mother, while considerably closer than she had been during his terrible childhood, was still a somewhat distant presence; over the past few years both had come to feel closer to Meg and Antoinette than anyone else in their lives. Though Erik might grouse about Madame's self-appointed role as his conscience, there was no denying that she had been the one to try and help him through the dark days and Christine knew that there was no one but herself that he trusted more; should anything happen to them, they would be happy that their daughter was in the safest of hands.

"Have you been in to see Papa?" Christine asked as Allegra clung onto her, arms wrapped around her neck.

The little girl nodded. "He's asleep again but I put Monsieur Bear in beside him. He'll keep away bad dreams."

None of them could help a smile at the image conjured up, that of the once-feared Phantom of the Opera curled up and cuddling a stuffed toy. It almost made Christine wish she had a camera so that she might preserve the moment for future generations. After holding in with remarkable restraint, Meg burst out laughing once Clothilde had borne Allegra off to bed. She started out of her chair. "Do you think Erik would mind if I popped up to see him for a minute? Just to take a look..."

"Oh, Meg, sit down," Christine said, trying to smother her own grin. "He would be absolutely mortified!"

"All the better. It never hurts to have some form of leverage, should one need it."

"Shame on you, Meg Giry. Blackmail is a despicable practise," Madame Giry scolded, undermined entirely by her own traitorous lips, which kept trying to turn upwards.

"Allegra is as bright as a button," Meg remarked when she had sobered. "Did you not want more children, Christine?"

Surprised by the question, Christine nearly slopped milk pudding all over the tablecloth. "I hadn't really thought about it," she said, though in truth she had, and more than once since Allegra's birth though she had told no one. She passed out the dishes. "God will decide, won't he? I can't make these things happen."

"Yes, but did you _want_ another? It seems a shame for Allegra to be on her own."

"You were, and you turned out perfectly well," Madame Giry reminded her daughter, her tone sharper than Christine thought strictly necessary. It had been an innocent question, after all. "Erik and Christine were both only children; perhaps they do not feel the need for a bigger family."

"Yes, I know, but I used to think when I was growing up that it might have been nice to have a sister," Meg told her. "Someone to confide in, to discuss the sort of things I couldn't possibly tell you, Maman. Then, of course, I met Christine and I didn't feel the need any more."

Christine smiled at her best friend. "I do know what you mean, Meg. I had no one but Papa and sometimes it could be lonely. But Allegra has both of us; we won't let her feel that way."

"You will not be there for her forever." For some reason Christine couldn't fathom, Madame was watching her closely. "Do not forget that Erik is considerably older than you."

"I hope that we will both be here for some years to come," Christine replied, slightly discomfited by the serious direction the conversation had taken. "Besides, we have plenty of time; I am still young and Erik is in the prime of life. One would hardly call him an old man, Madame!"

The ballet mistress shook out her napkin. "As you wish."

"Surely Erik would like more children," Meg insisted, seemingly oblivious to the peculiar tension Christine could feel in the air. "He loves Allegra so much and she's changed him, softened him round the edges."

"Don't tell him you think that; he prides himself on his ability to intimidate truculent divas," she said, in the hope of lightening the mood. She prodded at her rice pudding thoughtfully. "Perhaps he would, I'm not sure. Sometimes I think the prospect scares him a little."

Meg blinked. "Why?"

Christine was saved having to answer when there was a knock on the door and Clothilde peeped in. "Excuse me, Madame; I thought you might want to know that a note just arrived for you. It is marked urgent."

"Thank you, Clothilde." The maid withdrew and Meg watched with interest as Christine opened the envelope. Madame Giry carried on calmly eating her dessert. There was a single sheet of paper inside, two lines scrawled across it in looping handwriting; when she read them Christine could not help but laugh.

Meg frowned. "What? What does it say?"

Wordlessly Christine passed her the missive. It was from Theodora, and said:

_Well? Are you coming to London now?_

_P.S. What is the point of installing a telephone if no one can reach you on it?_

* * *

Erik looked at the note and shook his head. "Typical Theodora."

"She's right about the telephone. I haven't heard it ring all week," Christine said, running the brush through her hair for the last time. Discarding her wrap, she slipped into bed beside him, thinking how incredibly normal it felt. They hadn't had a bedtime conversation like this in months; she was always asleep well before he came upstairs and often missed him in the morning, undisturbed by his near-silent tread as he dressed and left the house at the crack of dawn.

"That suits me perfectly well. I was not happy to have it in the first place."

"It is there for emergencies," she reminded him.

"And is useless if the lines are down, as has been proved. I doubt it will ever catch on." His tone brooked no argument and she was too weary to bother trying.

She snuggled up against him; his arm automatically slid around her, as though they had never been apart. It felt comforting; it felt... it felt _right_. "What do you think about Teddy's offer? You know she's not going to back down, not now you have nowhere else to be over Christmas."

"Would you like to go to London?" She glanced up to see from his expression that he was asking quite seriously.

"I hadn't even considered that we might. Do _you_ want to go? You were always completely against the idea before."

He sighed sharply. "It has been made clear to me that if I am to take an enforced holiday, London is as good a place as any. It is an interesting city and we will certainly not want for comforts."

"No, indeed. Teddy has been promising me unimaginable luxury." Christine considered. "I think she may have been exaggerating just a little."

"'Over-selling' is, I believe, the expression James once used," Erik said. "And Theodora is more practised in the art than most. You can telephone her in the morning to give her the good news, if the blasted thing is actually working."

A spark of excitement ignited within her at his words. An adventure! She had certainly never expected such a thing when she woke full of care and anxiety; that morning and the events of the previous evening suddenly seemed a world away. "Are you sure you will be strong enough?" she asked, a remnant of that worry gripping her for a moment. "Last night - "

He dropped a kiss on her hair. "I will be perfectly all right, mon ange. I have considered the doctor's pronouncement and though I may not entirely agree with it I will do as he says. For you, and for Allegra."

"I wish you would do it for yourself, as well, but I will accept that for now." She laid an arm across his chest, resting her cheek on his shoulder as he played with her curls for a while, wrapping them around his finger. Allegra's Monsieur Bear sat on the nightstand next to his mask. "It's just as well having Teddy and Jimmy for friends has improved my English," she remarked. "I don't suppose they speak much French in London. Or Swedish."

"In my experience, the British as a race are extremely reluctant to learn any other tongue. They think the best way to speak to foreigners is in their own language, only slower and louder. I have experienced it firsthand."

Christine giggled. "Have you been to London before, then?"

"Once, in my youth," he replied. "I was travelling, wanting to see the world but not staying anywhere long. To earn my keep I managed to obtain a few weeks' employment on a building site. It was hard work, but I did not dislike it; of course, once the foreman noticed my face I had no choice but to move on."

She sat up slightly, interested. Even though they had been married for a while it was still unusual for him to mention his past; there was still so much she didn't know. "Was it an important building, like the Populaire?"

Erik shook his head. "No; grand architectural work was still in the future. It was a big house, though; probably the city dwelling of some nobleman. I may have heard a name in connection but I cannot recall; it was a very long time ago, before you were born."

"It pains me sometimes to think that you lived a whole other life before I even entered the world," she said, curling into his side and wincing; even through his thick nightshirt she could feel how prominent his ribs had become over the past few weeks. It was like cuddling a xylophone.

He kissed the top of her head. "Would it help if I told you my life only properly began when we met? Everything that came before was just an existence."

"It would." She sighed happily. "You say the nicest things sometimes. I've missed you in bed."

"I've been here."

"Sometimes it is possible to be present and absent at the same time."

"True enough, I suppose. Christine - " His hand stopped moving through her hair and she looked up to find him frowning. "Do you regret retiring? After all we planned for you, are you really happy away from the stage? You could have been the most celebrated soprano in Europe."

"I am happy wherever you are," she told him. Her thumb caressed his cheek, and he rested his forehead against hers. She stroked his distortion, just lightly, her fingertips ghosting over the ridges; that side was especially sensitive and she heard the longing in his sigh as his eyes closed. "That's all that matters to me right now."

"And in the future?" he asked, leaning into her touch. His mouth was so close that she could not help but kiss him, just softly at first, relishing the taste of him after so many weeks apart.

"The future can take care of itself."

He was slightly breathless, so she kissed him again, more urgently; his hands were on her waist, pulling her to him as he leaned back into the pillows, but when she opened her mouth to deepen it he groaned, and not in the way she expected. "Oh, God, Christine..."

Feeling him tremble against her, she pulled back in concern to find a mixture of embarrassment and amusement in his eyes."What's the matter? Are you feeling unwell - "

"Not especially. It's just..." He flung a hand over his face and she realised he was shaking with laughter. "Much as I want to, I really don't have the strength tonight."

For a very long moment they just looked at each other. Then Christine started to laugh, too.

"Oh, dear," she said. "We really have to get you better, don't we?"

* * *

"Marsh gas?"

Madame Giry shrugged and picked up her teacup. "That is what they said. The workmen think it must have been building up inside the drains for years."

"But how? Where did it come from? The opera isn't anywhere near a marsh," Meg pointed out. Bruno cosied up to her wanting attention, tail thumping on the floor, and she reached a hand down to pet him behind the ears. The spaniel growled appreciatively.

"That's not strictly true," Erik told her. "The ground was hopelessly waterlogged and had to be pumped dry before building could start; even with the pumps going twenty-four hours a day it just kept coming back."

"Until you came along, of course," Christine said sweetly. He shot her a smile, one that after almost two weeks of doing next to nothing around the house was genuine, no longer weighed down by exhaustion. It had not been easy to get him to rest once he started feeling more himself; he was not a man who relished idleness, inactivity bored him, and she had had to lock the door of the music room and hide the key to keep him from spending all his time at the piano. Thankfully their daughter was a welcome distraction; when there was no sign of him one afternoon she went looking only to find him in the nursery, sitting on the bed with Allegra curled up in his lap, a richly-illustrated storybook spread out across his knees and an audience of toy animals gathered around them. Christine crept away, not wishing to spoil the moment. On another occasion, summoned by a smiling Clothilde, she was instructed to help as Erik, on his hands and knees on the floor, jacket discarded and sleeves rolled up, created an exotic castle from building bricks; unfortunately she discovered herself to be no master mason and one badly-constructed arch gave way, sending the whole lot tumbling down, to Erik's fury and Allegra's delight.

"Yes, until I came along," he agreed now. "But there would have to be considerable reserves of vegetation rotting down there to cause an explosion." He frowned. "It sounds so unlikely that now it makes me wonder whether the pipes to my home _were_ responsible after all."

"Or the gunpowder," said Meg, slyly.

Her mother shot her a glance. "What gunpowder?" Meg looked at Erik. So did Madame. And Christine, interested to find out how he was going to get out of this one.

"The small store Pierre uses for the pyrotechnics," he replied, mind working quickly as always. He slipped a biscuit down to Bruno, who crunched it with enthusiasm, probably thinking she wouldn't notice; after over four years of marriage however she had started to cotton on to some of his sleight of hand techniques. "That would never have been enough to do any damage."

Madame lifted an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Erik insisted, his expression one of a man trying to look innocent. It didn't entirely work, hampered by his contrary features, and it was quite obvious she didn't believe him for a moment. "Do you doubt me, Annie?"

"Always," she retorted.

He shook his head. "You wound me, Madame. Anyone would think you didn't trust me at all."

"Oh, I trust you, Erik. I just know what sort of mischief you used to get up to."

"He is a respectable married man, now, Madame," Christine reminded her, coming to his rescue. She smiled at her husband, handing him his cup. "He doesn't get up to mischief any more. Do you, darling?"

"Not at all, my dearest," Erik said smoothly. Madame Giry just looked between the two of them and threw up her hands in defeat.

"Just as you please!" she exclaimed and they both bit back a smile. "I should have known better than to ask. The point of all this is that the theatre is going to be closed for some weeks. Thankfully Marigny and Fontaine are not putting us all out on to the streets, but what will we do with ourselves?"

Christine glanced at Erik, who nodded. "Well," she said, noticing out of the corner of her eye that he had given the dog another of the sablé Breton that she had made that morning, "Why don't you come to London with us? Teddy won't mind; the original invitation was for everyone, after all."

Meg's eyes lit up. "Do you really think we could?" she asked her mother.

Madame Giry looked less than convinced. "I don't know - "

"If I am to have a holiday, Annie, you must have one as well," Erik declared. "Heaven knows you need one."

"Thank you, Erik," she said archly. "How very kindly put."

He shrugged. "I am only considering your welfare, as you do mine. And as it was you who practically forced me to agree to this enterprise the least you can do is suffer it with me."

"Is it decided, then?" Meg was practically bouncing in her seat like a small child. "Can we go?"

Erik settled back in his chair, eyes hooded but amused behind his steepled fingers, apparently enjoying the usually authoritative ballet mistress's discomfiture. "I'm told Covent Garden has an excellent ballet," he remarked, adding as she hesitated, "But one never knows when they might need some of your expert guidance..."

She glared at him for trying to soft-soap her, removing her daughter's grasp where Meg was insistently tugging on her arm. "Meg Giry, calm down!" she snapped. "Anyone would think you were younger than Allegra!"

Meg pouted for a moment before she sat back with exaggerated care, back straight, hands folded primly in her lap. Christine tried not to laugh; Meg was _never_ that ladylike. "Well, _can_ we go, Maman?" she enquired.

It was clear that Madame was torn as they all watched her expectantly. Even Bruno sat still, his head up, aware that something important was going on. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked steadily, the tea got cold, until eventually she said crossly,

"Oh, very well, if we must."

Meg cheered.

Erik got up. "I'd better telephone Theodora."

* * *

"Erik, did you lock the back door?"

Standing in the hall, bundled up in a thick coat and his customary fedora and holding Allegra while she tried to stuff Cesar into his pocket, he just rolled his eyes. "Yes. And all the windows. Just as you asked me to five minutes ago. And ten minutes before that, even though Chloe will have to unlock them all when she comes back."

"Are you sure your mother doesn't mind looking after Bruno?" Christine asked, checking the window in the parlour herself and finding it was indeed firmly fastened. She tugged on the latch again, just in case.

"Yes," he said wearily, watching her as she mentally ran through the number of locks to assure herself that everything was secure. Although Chloe had promised to regularly check on the house Christine had never needed to leave her home completely empty for longer than a few hours before. "I told you when I went to see her two days ago. There's plenty of room in the convent grounds for him to roam and she said she would enjoy the company."

She took a long last look around the room, searching for any detail she might have missed. "The bags?"

"Ready and waiting. How much more time do you need, Christine? The cab will be here in a moment."

"I just want to make sure. We are going to another country, after all." Snatching up the gloves that were lying on the table she joined him in the hall, smiling at the sight of the toy horse's head poking from his coat and deciding not to tell him it was there.

"You make it sound as though we are visiting Outer Mongolia," Erik complained. "We are only going to London; Lyon is further away!"

"I know, but we have to cross the Channel, and that makes a difference." Christine patted the pins holding her hat and glanced in the mirror to make sure it hadn't moved. It was a new one, and she wasn't entirely sure she liked it. "I haven't been on a boat since I was a child. I hope I don't get seasick."

He straightened, affronted. "What about all the times I took you to my house?"

"I mean a real boat, dear, not one from the prop store."

"I'll have you know I worked for weeks on that gondola, making it seaworthy. I virtually rebuilt it!" he declared. "The state it was in when I found it, it would have sunk without trace on its maiden voyage."

"Well, it was only designed to be pulled across the stage," she pointed out, and his face crumpled into a frown of annoyance that matched the permanent expression of his mask.

"Papa, if you had a boat, were you a sailor?" Allegra asked around the thumb on which she had been contentedly sucking during the conversation.

Christine and Erik exchanged a worried glance. They had always been careful not to directly mention his days spent living below the opera house in her presence; she was so quick to pick up on anything unusual and reluctant to let go of a subject if she found it particularly interesting. Now it was too late. Erik looked as though he wanted to kick himself.

"I... well, I have been many things in my time, petite," he said helplessly.

Allegra's eyes were wide. "Did you go to sea like Uncle Raoul? Were you the captain?"

"In a way. Papa used to take me out in his own boat," Christine told her, noticing from the corner of her eye her husband sag slightly with relief. "He sailed it on a lake, instead of the sea."

"Which lake?"

She tugged up her daughter's collar, straightening it, and tightened the ribbons on her bonnet. "A very special lake, one that only very special people are allowed to see. It is black, and dark, and full of magic, and is called Lake Averne."

Allegra fidgeted. "Can I see it?"

Christine looked at Erik, hearing the words ' _Thank you_ ' next to her left ear though his mouth didn't move. "One day, perhaps," he agreed. "When you are older."

The doorbell jangled, making them all jump.

"That will be the cab," Erik announced, taking a firmer grip on Allegra with one hand and sweeping up the bags with the other. She squealed and clung on tight as he twirled her around, sharp gaze raking the hall to make sure they weren't leaving anything behind. Christine opened the door to see a four-wheeler at the end of the path, Meg hanging out of the window and waving madly.

"Come on!" the ballerina called. "We'll miss the train!"

Christine took Allegra from Erik, setting her down while he locked up after them. Then, grasping her daughter by the hand, she took a deep breath and hurried her towards the waiting cab.

The Claudins were going to London.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

"Oh, my goodness, look at that!" Meg exclaimed, staring up with wide eyes at the townhouse that loomed out of the darkness, its white stuccoed exterior lit by gas lamps. "It's almost as grand as the opera!"

Christine gazed up too; even more light spilled from the tall windows and down the front steps, warm and welcoming and, as she was currently wet, cold and thoroughly miserable, she didn't think she'd ever seen anything quite so enchanting just at that moment. "It looks as though Teddy wasn't exaggerating after all."

"It's huge! I know she's rich, but it's even bigger than the house she rents back in Paris!" Meg's shoes crunched on the gravel as she approached the door; behind them Christine could hear Jimmy paying off the driver, joking with the man and wishing him a Merry Christmas, Erik helping him with their luggage. "I wondered where we were all going to stay, but it looks like we could have a floor each!"

"As long as it has hot water and a fire, I don't mind. I never want to set foot on a boat again," Christine said with feeling.

It had been a difficult crossing, the weather bad and the waves rather higher than she would have liked. It was no surprise when her husband turned out to be perfect a sailor with nary a trace of sickness, and she had been confident she would also suffer no ill effects, making it almost to Dover before her own stomach turned traitor. She spent the last mortifying hour of the voyage bending over the deck rail, Erik rubbing circles on her back and murmuring comfort in that voice which for once thoroughly failed to entrance her, while Clothilde and the Girys entertained a completely unaffected Allegra. Now she felt as though she had been turned inside out, twice, and wanted nothing more than a soft bed and absolutely no reason to ever get out of it.

Meg's eyebrows shot up. "Oh! Are you going to stay in London, then?" she asked innocently.

Before Christine could respond, a figure on the threshold called out with Theodora Merriman's voice, "You made it! I was starting to worry you might never get here!" She bustled down the steps, impossible to see clearly until she reached them, enthusiastically kissing them both. "It's so good to see you all!"

"A storm was blowing through the Channel; for a time we thought the captain might need to return to Calais," Erik explained as he approached, coaxing a sleepy Allegra to put one foot in front of the other. When she just yawned and it was obvious she was losing the battle to keep her eyes open he picked her up instead, carrying her into the house. A footman hurried past to collect the bags, pausing briefly to sketch a bow as he passed; he was followed by Madame Giry, who was giving him instructions in French, which the man ignored, probably unable to understand her.

Teddy linked her arm through Christine's and her face creased in consternation when she found that her coat had not dried on the trip from Dover. "Honey, you're cold! Come on, inside! You'll freeze if you stay out here; Martha tells me it might snow tonight."

"Has she been sitting out on the roof again?" Jimmy asked, appearing behind them and making Meg jump. Christine tried and failed to suppress a shiver and, gallant as always, he slipped out of his coat, draping it around her shoulders. She shot him a grateful smile. "You want to speak to her about that; she'll give us a bad name with the neighbours."

"I think you've already done that; I heard you fall in at three o'clock the other night," said Theodora, shepherding them indoors. The warmth of the hall was enveloping, a huge fire burning in the grate, and Christine instinctively headed for it, holding out her chilled hands towards the flames. Her fingers tingled as the heat brought them back to life. Meg followed her at a slower pace, mouth open as she stared at the chequerboard tiles, the sweeping staircase and the marble statues in their niches; overhead there hung a glittering chandelier, dripping with crystal. Whoever owned the house, they had plenty of money but not a huge amount of taste.

Jimmy's expression was one of wounded dignity. "Teddy, you have absolutely no faith in me."

"Of course not; I know you too well. The nobs around here don't like early morning drunken displays."

"The aristocracy are some of the worst; you should see what I do in the West End clubs," he told her, and she laughed. "Drunk as skunks, the lot of 'em."

"Yes, my darling, but they don't arrive home singing _The Star-Spangled Banner_ at the top of their voices, do they?"

"It's probably not the song, more James's voice that they object to," Erik remarked; evidently having delivered Allegra into Clothilde's care he was warming his coat tails before the blaze. Madame had disappeared, probably still berating the footman. "I don't think he could carry a tune in a bucket."

"You would say that, you infernal snob." Jimmy's moustache twitched and he did his best to look affronted but it was obvious he was trying not to laugh. "I'll have you know I've had compliments about my singing."

The former Phantom raised an eyebrow. "From the profoundly deaf, I assume."

"Hey, just because I wouldn't make the grade at your opera - "

"My dear James, the next time I require someone who sounds like a cat with its tail caught in the mangle, you will be the first person I call," Erik said, his grave tone belied by the grin that was playing around his lips.

"Men," Teddy murmured in Christine's ear. "They never change."

"I wouldn't want them to," Christine said, smiling fondly. Jimmy was one of Erik's few male friends; the only thing he really took seriously was business and it was this that made him able to bring out the lighter, more frivolous side of her husband that she didn't often get to see. "I think I'd rather like to hear Jimmy sing again; I remember his performance at our wedding reception."

"Be careful what you wish for. I'm organising a Christmas concert for the families of the Americans here in London, and he's insisting on taking part." Theodora watched the object of her affections as he lit a cigar from one of the many glass-shaded lamps and waved it expansively, making Erik waft away the smoke with a half-annoyed glare. "I've been wondering whether to issue cheese for them to put in their ears before the show."

"A concert?" Meg asked, just as Christine shivered again.

Naturally, Teddy didn't miss it. "Later," she said. "I think what you all need now is a change of clothes, and a nap."

"That's the nicest thing anyone has said to me all day," Christine admitted. "I never expected a ferry crossing to be so draining."

"I thought you would be a born sailor, Christine," Meg told her mischievously. "After all that experience you had in gondolas..."

Christine glared at her as Teddy enquired, eyebrow arched, "Gondolas?"

It was like repeating the conversation with Allegra the previous day. Unfortunately this time it wouldn't be so easy to wriggle out of. "In Venice," Christine said with a limp smile, making a mental note to strangle Meg when she got the chance. "Erik took me while you were in New York. A delayed honeymoon."

Theodora's other brow joined the first, and then she smiled, too. "Well, you _are_ a dark horse! I look forward to hearing all about it. But first," she added much to Meg's amusement and Christine's relief, "We'll show you your rooms, and you can get settled in. When you've recovered we'll have tea. It'll be worth the wait: that's one thing the British do better than anyone."

* * *

"I take it back. Theodora was definitely not 'over selling' this place."

"It's absolutely enormous," Christine said. It seemed Martha had been right about the snow; lazy flakes were beginning to fall, spiralling in the light from the window. She pulled the heavy drapes shut and turned to her husband, who was sitting on the edge of the bed in just his shirt and trousers, braces loose around his hips as he pulled off his shoes. "It must be costing her a fortune!"

"I'm sure our shameless little diva talked someone into giving her a good deal. Either that or James threatened them with some sort of legal action," Erik responded and she laughed.

"You make them sound like a pair of hustlers!"

"Aren't they? Those two could brazen out anything." He tugged at the knot in his tie; abandoning the window she came to free it for him and he snaked an arm around her waist, drawing her onto his lap. "Happy to be here?" he asked, kissing the end of her nose.

"Ecstatic. Or at least I will be when I warm up." The edge of his mask brushed her face. The porcelain was cold and she pulled away slightly. "I do wish you would take that off."

He took her hand away when she reached up to remove it, his mouth a thin line. "There are too many servants here. Someone might see me."

"In our bedroom? All right, all right, I understand," Christine said when he started to argue. "I've just got so used to seeing you without it these days, that's all."

Erik sighed. "I know. But I can't take that chance. London is smaller than Paris; if anyone found out that Theodora Merriman was harbouring - " He threw up a hand towards his face " - _this_ , it would be round the town in a heartbeat."

"Teddy would be the first one to defend you," she reminded him, though he looked unconvinced. Pressing her lips to the uncovered side of his forehead she slid off his knees. "Just as long as you don't wear it to bed; it's no fun smacking your head into it in the middle of the night."

"I promise," he said with a smile but did not relinquish her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. "I'm going to freshen up. Would you like me to run you a bath, or do you want to sleep first?"

The thought of lying down was one she found desperately tempting but after hours on a freezing cold ferry and a train journey that hadn't been much warmer the idea of wallowing in hot water drew her just as much. In the end the bath won out. "Yes, please," she said, and he rose to his feet with a bow.

"As my lady commands."

Tired as she was, something still stirred with her as she watched him walk barefoot towards the bathroom, graceful as a panther, his shirt open at the throat. She called his name and he turned, eyebrow raised. Christine popped the top button on her dress.

"Maybe while you're freshening up you could wash my back..?"

* * *

She felt refreshed after her soak and a couple of hours' sleep. The bath was enormous, and could comfortably fit two; thankfully the house had hot running water as it might have been a little awkward to request someone to bring a can. The last thing she remembered was Erik wrapping a blanket around her and carrying her to the bed, her eyes barely able to stay open as he laid her down against the goose feather pillows, covering her with a swansdown comforter. When she woke however the room was pitch black and she was alone; it took her some time to find the lamps, tripping over furniture and fumbling one hand along the wall until she found the gas bracket, cursing her husband for forgetting she didn't share his ability to see in the dark.

"Are you feeling better?" James asked as she entered the drawing room, having headed there after asking the butler in her somewhat rusty English where everyone was. They were all there: Meg chattering excitedly to Teddy about the sights of London and what she wanted to see first, Madame Giry knitting in an armchair next to the fire, austere against the brightness of the room. Erik was lounging on one of the striped sofas, perusing a newspaper; he glanced up as Christine approached, taking the hand she held out to him and drawing her to sit beside him.

"Perhaps you'll find your sea legs on the way back," he said, and she narrowed her eyes at the faint trace of amusement she detected in his tone.

"I hope so; I thought I'd done quite well until we hit that enormous wave. After that everything flip-flopped and I thought I might die," she admitted, adding a little tartly, "Of course, you being completely unaffected didn't help in the least."

He shrugged. "I have been on more than one voyage, and on seas far rougher than the Channel in December."

"Is there anything you haven't done, Erik?" Teddy enquired, waving away the maid standing at her shoulder who was about to pour the tea. Christine didn't miss the curious look the girl shot towards Erik's face when she obviously thought no one was looking, and she knew he hadn't either. He said nothing however, and she did not mention it, instead turning her attention to the tea table; she didn't think she'd seen one so laden for what she had until now thought of as such a simple repast: there were delicate finger sandwiches, smoked salmon, tarts, biscuits, tiny cakes and bonbons. Her stomach lurched slightly; she wasn't entirely sure she would be able to do any of it justice. When Teddy passed her a drink she was relieved to find it contained a twist of lemon instead of milk.

"Very little," Erik replied, accepting a cup from Theodora. He sat back against the sofa cushions, crossing one elegant leg over the other. "Though I have never been to the United States, which has sometimes grieved me."

"We'll rectify that someday," Jimmy said, shunning the tea for a glass of claret. "Though Christine may need a bit longer to find her inner sailor."

"I'll be fine, Jimmy, really," Christine told him. She glanced around the room, taking in the decor that she hadn't noticed as she walked in. It was huge, the ceiling high and ornately decorated with swags of plaster festooned across it, the walls a dazzling mixture of white and gold; the furniture gilded and upholstered to match. Her feet sank into deep red carpet and mirrors hung at either end, making it seem even bigger than it already was. And in one corner stood an enormous fir tree, its branches hung with coloured glass balls which reflected and refracted the light, and tiny paper cones filled with sweets. At the end of each branch was a candle, unlit for now, and the whole was topped with a beautiful figure of an angel, arms and wings outstretched as though watching over it all. "My goodness, Teddy," she said. "Who does this house belong to?"

"Oh, just the duke of somewhere or other," the prima donna replied airily. "He pressed it on me when I made the mistake of letting on I was in lodgings."

"At Claridges," Jimmy pointed out.

Erik rolled his eyes. "Theodora, only you would describe the best hotel in London as 'lodgings'."

Teddy patted her hair. "I prefer to be away from the prying eyes of the hoi-polloi," she declared. "Anyway, it's much easier to have choir rehearsals here; no one complains about the noise. Well, not much."

"Yes, do tell us about this concert of yours, Teddy," Meg said before anyone else could comment, helping herself to another cucumber sandwich. "It sounds like fun."

"And what concert is this?" Madame Giry asked without looking up, purling another stitch. Christine wondered what this particular piece was to be; no one ever saw the results of Madame's busy-work and it was a constant source of speculation. There had been one occasion when her knitting just grew and grew until Erik had been convinced she was making a trunk-warmer for an elephant, before it vanished, never to be seen again. "I understood this was to be a holiday."

Jimmy shook his head, waving his pastry fork at Theodora in admonishment. "You didn't tell them, did you?"

"I was going to," she insisted. "It's hardly front-page news, is it?"

"It is sounding rather like you have lured us here under false pretences, Theodora," Erik remarked. He took the smallest piece of salmon for himself, only adding a sandwich when Christine gave him a pointed stare. "Are we required to sing for our supper?"

Teddy shot him a coquettish glance. "Now _that_ would really put my little soiree on the map, especially if _you_ agreed to perform. Any chance of it happening?"

"Not in the slightest." He looked at Christine. "I hardly ever sing in public, and my wife is now retired at her own request."

"That's such a shame," Meg piped up. "Just imagine: the two of you singing together again! I remember hearing you for the first time in _Don Juan_ ; it was incredible!"

"They've sung together before? On stage?" Teddy asked, frowning. "I thought you just said - "

"It happened once, and that's all," Christine said quickly, shooting Meg a glare; her friend looked mortified at having let another of their many cats out of the bag. Madame Giry didn't even pause in her knitting. "The principal was taken ill; Erik stepped into the breach. It was just one duet before the performance had to be halted because of technical problems." Technical problems indeed... like Carlotta and Piangi disappearing, her own accidental revelation of Erik's presence to everyone, the gunman Raoul had placed in the orchestra pit shooting his rival in the shoulder... and all of that on top of the Phantom's long reign of terror and the fact that he had forced them to stage his opera in the first place... Thinking about it now, it would almost have seemed like some sort of insane dream were it not for the presence of the wedding band on her finger and her reformed husband sitting beside her.

From the corner of her eye she could see Erik watching her carefully but she didn't dare take her attention from Theodora. Teddy was looking thoughtful, but at length she nodded, apparently accepting the explanation. "As Meg said, that's a real shame," she mused. "I could use a draw; I've been told the Randolph Churchills are going to come."

"I have absolutely no intention of exposing myself to the ridicule of the aristocracy," Erik said firmly. "I would rather take the next boat back to France."

"It's all right, maestro, no one is asking you to. There's no need to get into a huff," Teddy told him, and he snorted. "I was actually going to _invite_ you all to the concert; I thought you might like to be in the audience for once."

"Thank you, Teddy," Christine put in before Erik could say anything else. "It's a lovely idea. How did you end up organising it?"

Theodora pulled a face. "Mrs Alice Eckhart, senior amongst the US contingent and all-round battle-axe, is behind it. She does it every year, apparently, to raise money for charity, but this time the organiser cancelled on her so she asked me if I could step in. I could do without the fuss, to be perfectly honest, but Jimmy has a lot of dealings with her husband and she's a patron of Covent Garden, so I didn't really feel I could refuse. It's just a couple of hours, early evening on the twenty-fourth, that's all."

"I'm sure we would all be honoured to come. Wouldn't we, Erik?" Christine asked sweetly.

His eyebrow arched. "Oh, naturally," he said in a tone that suggested he would be anything but. Meg snickered and he shot her a freezing stare, the effect making her clam up in an instant.

Teddy's lips twitched. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

* * *

After that time dragged a little, the only conversation desultory small talk, until the clock announced that it was time to dress for dinner.

"Everything is so formal in this house," Teddy said as she and Christine crossed the hall. "I tried to have dinner in an afternoon dress the first week I was here and the butler nearly had an apoplexy. I've gone out of my way to do everything right since, purely out of concern for his health. The duke wouldn't thank me if I accidentally killed off his staff."

"If it's so constraining, why don't you go back to the hotel?" Christine asked, amused.

"And give up the most wonderful cook I've ever encountered? It's worth the discomfort just for the entrées," the little diva replied with a grin. They started up the stairs, and then she came to a halt, turning round. "Christine, I know I shouldn't be asking this and Erik will probably kill me, but would you think about singing at my concert? It's ages since anyone has heard your voice, and I'm sure Mrs Eckhart's guests would love to experience La Daae."

Christine opened her mouth to demur, but Meg came up behind them before she had a chance to say anything. "Oh yes, Christine, please do!" she exclaimed. "We've missed you at the opera. Erik's not really happy working with anyone but you."

"And don't I know it? He's a complete tartar; he needs her there to mould him into a civilised human being," Teddy remarked. "Come on, Christine, it's just one evening. I'll let you choose your piece; whatever you want to sing."

"I can't!" Christine cried helplessly. "It's been too long; I wouldn't know what to do!"

"It's been three years, not three decades. You don't forget." Theodora leaned in close. "It would make a wonderful Christmas present for your man, seeing you up there again."

"Especially after all the hard work you both put in," added Meg. "It's so sad to see it all go to waste when it was what brought you together in the first place."

"You two are ganging up on me," Christine complained. "I hardly think that's fair."

Teddy laughed. "All's fair in love and war, so they say. This concert definitely comes under the terms of war; Mrs Eckhart's got some competition from Philadelphia and she doesn't like it one bit."

Curious to the last, Meg couldn't help asking, "What are they going to do?"

"I don't know, but I have my spies doing their darndest to find out."

"You mean you've sent Jimmy to do it," Christine said, and her friend looked scandalised, a hand pressed to her heart.

"Christine, that's not worthy of you!" Teddy proclaimed theatrically before she shrugged it off with a smile. "All right, I may have done."

"Teddy!"

"Well, I have a right to know what I'm up against. Don't I?"

"You are dreadful," Christine told her, and the prima donna winked.

"I certainly hope so," she said, then jumped as the grandfather clock below them chimed the half hour. "Hell! We'll be late for dinner!"

"And that," remarked Madame Giry as she sailed past them all up the stairs, "would be an unpardonable sin."

The three of them watched her ascend, her figure stark against the red of the carpet, unruffled as ever. After a few moments she stopped, just past the bend in the staircase, and looked down at the younger women with the stare Meg knew well and Christine had never forgotten from her time in the corps. She was sure she could count the number of times she had seen Madame agitated on the fingers of one hand.

"Well?" she asked in a tone that would stand for no disobedience, plucked brows raised. "Come along, or the gentlemen will be ready before us!"

"You know, Meg," Teddy muttered as they followed, for once doing as she was told, "Sometimes your mother really unnerves me."

"She does that to everyone," Meg assured her confidently, but quickened her pace even so. "She even scares Erik!"

"Now that," the little diva said as Christine started to laugh, "Is truly terrifying..."

* * *

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather have gone to the Tower with the others?" Erik asked, checking the angle of his hat in one of the hall mirrors. Satisfied that it was perfectly tilted to shadow his mask he turned back to Christine, who was buttoning Allegra's coat while their daughter squirmed and tried to get away. "It would have been an educational trip."

"In that case, why didn't you want to go? Oh, darling, stop wriggling!" Christine admonished, wrestling the last button into place. As Allegra pouted she brushed down the red velvet and wound a scarf around her neck, tying it firmly. "I know you don't want to wear it but it's cold outside."

"I'm hot!" the little girl exclaimed. "I shall catch fire!"

"What an absurd suggestion," Erik told her, picking up his walking stick from the stand by the door. "Spontaneous human combustion is nothing more than a myth."

"Yes, your three-and-a-half year old daughter will understand that logic," Christine said dryly.

"Perhaps not, but she will at least do as she is told and wear a coat outside." Crossing over to them he bent slightly, tapping Allegra's nose with a gloved finger. He gave her a hard stare. "Will she not?"

As always, his stern voice had the desired effect and she nodded solemnly. "Yes, Papa."

"Come along, then," he ordered, taking her hand; Cesar the horse was clutched in the other, an almost permanent arrangement over the past few weeks. There had been several minutes of horror on the boat when it was thought the toy had been lost overboard until Clothilde discovered it hidden in Madame Giry's knitting bag. "In answer to your question," Erik added as they descended the steps towards the waiting cab, "I have seen more than enough torture equipment in my lifetime; I have no desire to pay for the privilege. Besides, they will enjoy themselves more without strangers gawking."

"Those women weren't staring at you, Erik," Christine insisted as he passed Allegra up to her, swinging himself inside the carriage and rapping on the roof with his cane. He just looked at her. "Well, all right, they may have been, but not for the reason you think."

"What other reason could there be to stare at a man in a mask?" he enquired. The cab lurched into motion.

"Oh, Erik... You really have no idea, do you?" She shook her head; Allegra looked up at them in confusion, a frown on her little face. Christine glanced across at her husband, her gaze moving from the unmarred side of his face with its strong chin and high cheekbone, one dark eyebrow elegantly arched, to the stark white glare of that mask, shaded by the brim of the charcoal fedora that matched his exquisitely-tailored overcoat. A cashmere scarf in a deep shade of burgundy was draped around his collar, strong hands in black leather gloves folded on the silver handle of his walking stick. Just the sight of him like this, dark and powerful, could still send a frisson through her and she very much doubted that the mask was the first thing any female would notice when seeing him for the first time. Then Allegra decided to climb up onto his lap and the illusion was shattered.

"My dear Christine, what on earth are you talking about?" he asked as his daughter snuggled into his coat.

Christine sighed. "Never mind," she replied fondly. "You don't mind taking us shopping, do you? Jimmy did offer - "

"If anyone is to escort my wife and child around the town, it will be me. As much as I... esteem James, I do not entirely trust him not to take you somewhere inappropriate."

"A music hall, perhaps? Or I believe _The Mikado_ is still playing at the Savoy," Christine said; she grinned at the shudder he gave and began to sing, stumbling a little over the unfamiliar words, " _For he's going to marry Yum Yum_ \- "

" _Christine_ ," he muttered dangerously, " _Don't try my patience_."

"Apologies, dearest," she replied, enjoying his annoyance. Erik and Eugene Reyer had a lot of musical tastes in common but the artistic merit of Gilbert and Sullivan operettas was one subject upon which they differed; the Populaire's veteran conductor and repetiteur loved them while Erik hated every note with a fiery passion. "What would you suggest?"

"I thought that you might enjoy an hour or two in Westminster Abbey before we indulge your mercenary desires. I have passed the building many times but never actually been inside."

It was a surprising suggestion; before their marriage Erik would never have voluntarily set foot in a church. "I'm sure it would be very interesting but Allegra might be a little bored amongst all those tombs. Won't she be overwhelmed?"

"Not in the least." He looked down at the subject of their discussion, who was contentedly sucking her thumb. "I will make sure of that."

"In that case, it sounds ideal," Christine agreed, taking their daughter as he called up to the driver. "Then we can buy some Christmas presents. Tante Teddy has told me about a wonderful toyshop in Covent Garden; I think we just have to take a look at that."

The visible side of Erik's mouth quirked in amusement. "Is it your intention to completely empty my wallet by the end of the day?

Christine smiled back. "I'm certainly going to give it a very good try."

* * *

True to his word, Erik did manage to keep Allegra interested during their visit to the Abbey, eschewing the offer of a tour and instead entertaining them both with tales of the many monarchs who had been buried there. It was a magnificent building, crammed with tombs and memorials stretching back over eight hundred years. Though he claimed never to have stepped inside before he seemed to know exactly where he was going and what to look for, pointing out the monument to Sir Isaac Newton on the choir screen, the shrine of Edward the Confessor, and the breathtaking Lady Chapel, the architect in him revelling in its elaborate fan vaulting that soared majestically overhead.

Naturally, however, it was Poet's Corner which really piqued his interest, with its many statues and inscriptions dedicated to those prominent in the arts. Stones inscribed with famous names covered the floor while more crowded the walls above; Shakespeare, Handel and Garrick looked sightlessly down on them, the later emerging dramatically from behind a stage curtain above the figures of tragedy and comedy in the perfect monument to an actor. Christine managed to pick out busts of Scott and Milton and marble tablets naming Keats, Shelley and Austen before she had to look away, rather overwhelmed herself.

She had to admit that the trip had been more successful than their earlier excursion to the South Kensington Museum with Teddy and Meg, when she had become aware of soft whispers and heads turning as they passed through the galleries; though she did not mention it to Erik at the time she knew he was aware of the muttering and the questioning eyes that followed them. How could he not be? Away from the familiarity of Paris, from the company at the opera who had willingly accepted him for what he was, she knew he was feeling exposed and vulnerable despite his attempts not to show it and was surprised but grateful that he had offered to take them out for the afternoon, into the press of people where he was least comfortable.

When they left the Abbey she told him that she would like to browse Liberty on Regent Street, another recommendation of Theodora's. He was reluctant at first but she persuaded him into the temple of luxurious fabrics and oriental _objets d'art_ , appealing to his love of fine things; it was easy to become carried away and she nearly found herself ordering an expensive Persian carpet for the dining room until Erik reminded her that they already had one. That didn't stop her purchasing Indian silks to make up an evening dress and brocades for his waistcoats and when they left there were several large parcels due to be sent back to Paris. By the time they had walked down to Covent Garden and the toyshop it was growing dark, the winter afternoon turning to evening.

The Piazza was impressive, the classical facade of the opera house rising above it, and there were plenty of people making their way home as the traders in the huge covered market packed up their wares, many calling out to try and sell the last of their produce for a discount. Though his movements were almost imperceptible, Christine knew that Erik was doing his best to stick to the edge of the streetlights, inclining his head so that they hid his mask from view every time someone came too close. She could see no obvious threat, in fact those who passed looked perfectly normal, one or two nodding a greeting or smiling at the sight of Allegra, all big eyes and curls, clutching Cesar in her hand, but even so he kept them both close, his years of experience when it came to the danger that could lurk in the dark rising to the fore. In this respect, he would always be the Phantom, instinctively preferring the shadows, and it wasn't long before she realised why.

It was when they were looking in the toyshop window that Christine became aware of the group on the other side of the street. There were four or five of them, all boys around thirteen or fourteen years old and scruffy, their clothes old and worn, caps and boots too big for them as though handed down by older siblings. They way they lounged there, brazenly watching the few shoppers who were left as they moved about between establishments made her think that they spent most of their time hanging around on street corners; she couldn't imagine any of them in gainful employment. Trying to ignore their presence as the other people nearby seemed to be doing, she returned her attention to her daughter, taking as she did a tighter grip on her purse just in case. Erik had lifted Allegra up so she could see the brightly-coloured display with its regiments of tin soldiers and beautifully dressed dolls; a clockwork train wound its way beneath the branches of the Christmas tree and there were stuffed animals galore, though nothing quite as magnificent as Cesar.

"Can I have that one there, the ballerina?" she asked, pointing to a particularly graceful doll with yellow curls, dressed in satin slippers and a floaty, romantic tutu. Christine remembered wearing something very similar once for an early role with the ballet corps.

"Maybe, if you behave yourself, Pére Noël will bring you one," Erik said, looking a little surprised by her choice. Allegra usually shunned dolls. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer the elephant? I saw one just like him in India a long time ago."

She shook her head. "No, that one, please."

"She'll look a little out of place amongst your other toys."

"I know, but she reminds me of Tante Meg," Allegra told him, and Christine couldn't help a smile. The doll did indeed look a little like her friend.

"Very well. I will pass on the request. You will have to be exceptionally good between now and Christmas morning." He set her back on her feet and she automatically grabbed for his hand, her little fingers lost between his long ones. "Is that understood?"

"Yes, Papa. Anyway, she won't be lonely; she can ride Cesar. He's just the right size." Allegra lifted her other hand, the one that had been holding onto the horse all afternoon, and cried out in horror when she found it was empty. "He's gone!"

"It's all right, sweetheart, you must have dropped him," Christine said, turning and scanning the pavement behind them. Even though it was getting dark, it should have been easy to spot the toy; unfortunately, though there was plenty of straw and refuse, she could see no sign of the white horse. "He can't be far away."

Erik passed Allegra over to her. "I will go back and look for him. The two of you wait for me inside."

"You will find him, won't you, Papa?" Allegra asked, tears welling up.

"Of course I will, petite," he promised, chucking her under the chin. "Go with Maman now, and look at the toys."

Reluctantly, she allowed Christine to lead her to the shop. The bell jangled brightly as the door opened, revealing a veritable Aladdin's cave of playthings; there were boats and perambulators, soft-faced ragdolls and imperious ones with white porcelain heads; hoops and balls and picture books all vied for the attention, the shelves stacked almost to the ceiling. Christine didn't think she had ever seen so many toys in her life.

A rotund man with impressive whiskers and pebble glasses came forward. "Good evening, madam, I am Samuel Palmer, proprietor of this establishment. Is there something in particular I may help you with? A doll for the young lady, perhaps?" He gave Allegra a little bow, which had her hiding shyly behind her mother's skirts.

"I am a friend of Mademoiselle Theodora Merriman," Christine said carefully when she had managed to decipher the barrage of information, and his eyes lit up at the mention of Teddy's name.

"Of course I remember Miss Merriman," he said with a smile. "She placed a large order with me some weeks ago. Have you come to do your own Christmas shopping, ma'am? I can certainly recommend something suitable for any child you for whom you may wish to buy; all toys come from my own workshop and are built with the greatest of care."

Allegra tugged on her mother's hand. "Maman, the ballerina..."

"An excellent choice," Mr Palmer agreed; he reached into the window and withdrew the doll in the lilac skirt. "Was this the one?"

Christine opened her mouth to enquire as to the price but before she could there was the sound of jeering from outside. Through the window she could make out the group of lads who had been watching them on the other side of the street; the doll forgotten she flew back to the doorway to see Erik stalking towards them, the tails of his greatcoat swirling behind him. "My daughter would like her toy back," she heard him say clearly in English, his tone even but holding a clear warning. He held out a hand. "Now, if you don't mind."

She only realised that Mr Palmer had followed her when he said, his tone dripping with irritation, "Those lads are here again. They've been troubling my customers for days."

"Troubling?" Christine asked, her heart sinking towards her shoes. "In what way?"

"Pick pocketing, intimidating ladies. I've called the police on more than one occasion but they don't seem to be interested." The little man offered another smile, though this time it was slightly nervous. "Don't worry, ma'am, you're quite safe in here."

The youths laughed, drawing her attention back to the scene outside. Two of them, one red-haired and plump, the other skinny with a shock of blond curls, exchanged a glance. "Wot, this?" Ginger asked, leisurely pulling something from behind his back. Little silver bells caught the lamplight and Christine realised he was holding Cesar by the tail, swinging the horse back and forth. "It'll cost yer, mister."

Erik, towering over them all, smiled humourlessly. "You may find it will cost you much more. I advise you to return my property at once before I become _very_ angry."

Boldly Curly stepped forward, squinting up at him, trying to see under the brim of the fedora. "What's wrong with yer face?"

"It's a mask!" one of the other boys shouted. "'E's wearin' a mask!"

"I seen people like that at the fair!" crowed another, and despite the encroaching darkness Christine could see Erik blanch at the word. Her heart leapt into her throat; he had spent years trapped in a travelling carnival, forced to display his face for the amusement of paying customers, and any reminder of that time was guaranteed to have an unfortunate effect upon him.

"You a fairground freak, mister?" Ginger enquired casually, leaning against the lamppost. He tossed Cesar into the road.

Erik gripped the handle of his walking stick so tightly his knuckles turned white. "No," he hissed, but the boys just hooted in amusement.

"Then whatcha wear it for? You got somefink to hide?" Curly demanded. He stood on his toes, pushing his face towards Erik's; instinctively Erik pushed him away, sending the child tumbling into the gutter. Turning his back to pick up Cesar, he didn't see the anger that suffused the boy's face; he scrambled to his feet, his friends coming forward to support him. "You'll regret that, freak!"

"You have no idea what you're talking about. Go home, before I make you regret far more." Erik commanded; Christine barely had time to shout a warning before Curly and two of the bigger boys launched themselves at the much taller man.

"Good God!" Mr Palmer exclaimed, catching her arm as she instinctively moved to help. "I wouldn't go out there, ma'am; you might get hurt!"

"I must!" Desperately she shook him off, snatching up Allegra's hand. "That's my husband they are attacking!"

Taken off balance, Erik crashed to the floor with a roar of anger; his hat flew off, stick clattering on the cobbles, and two of the lads caught hold of his arms, using their entire weight to pin him to the ground while Curly sat on his chest. The speed with which they moved made Christine think they had done this before, and more than once. Ginger, a nasty smile on his face, reached out for Erik's mask.

"Let's us 'ave a look for ourselves, shall we?" His fingers curled around the edge of the porcelain and one of the others snickered.

"Stop it!" Christine cried, stumbling down the steps of the shop as its owner shouted in consternation behind her. "Just leave him alone!"

The boys ignored her. Torn between wanting to fetch assistance and reluctance to abandon her husband, who she knew must have been holding back for he could have hurt the boys by now, and badly, she could do nothing more than watch, hugging Allegra to her. The little girl was trembling, her eyes huge as she saw her father's mask torn away, tossed carelessly into the piles of straw by the kerb.

"Christ!" Curly exclaimed.

"'E's a devil!" Ginger backed away, turning white at the sight of Erik's face, its aspect even more terrible in the shadows, twisted with rage.

"'E ain't no devil. No one looks like that. It's all face paint, it must be." Curious, Curly leaned forwards; his friends, evidently wanting to see what had caught his interest, moved too, loosening their hold on Erik's shoulders. It was a mistake; as Curly's fingers wavered close to his face, he unleashed the coiled strength that he had been conserving and with a snarl he threw them off. One boy rolled away hollering, clutching his nose, the other was on his feet and running down the road without a backward glance. Slowly, Erik sat up amongst the detritus on the ground, his own hand shooting towards Curly's collar.

"Do you want to see what I really am?" he enquired, gripping it and pulling the lad so close that Curly could not help but stare into the deformed features, his mouth working silently and his eyes like saucers as he beheld the warped and ravaged skin, no trick of make-up; saw the half nose with its gaping nostril, the bloated lips in their rictus grin. Erik raised his one eyebrow. "Attractive, is it not?" Curly writhed, courage fled and suddenly desperate to get free, get away from the unholy apparition in front of him. With little effort, Erik stood, lifting the boy clean off the ground; Curly's legs pedalled uselessly in thin air.

"Lemme go!"

"Erik, _no_ \- !" Christine cried. Did he remember it was a child he was holding, or was he running purely on instinct, on self-preservation? "He's only a boy!"

"Papa!" Pulling free of her distracted grasp, she realised with a thrill of horror that Allegra was running across the street towards her father. Christine's heart nearly stopped in her chest; trying to follow, she tripped over the hem of her skirt, shoes tangling in the heavy material. The cry that emerged from her throat was so raw and primal that she didn't even recognise her own voice as she screamed,

" _Allegra_!"

At the sound Erik seemed to come back to himself; he dropped Curly and the lad landed flat on his back, gasping for air for a few moments before scooting backwards on his rear, trying to put as much space between himself and the demon as possible. Spinning around, Erik's disordered gaze searched for his daughter, who had come to a halt in front of Ginger; the boy stepped forward, evidently having recovered some of his bravado despite the fact that most of his gang had already fled, vanishing down an alley between two of the shops. He stood in front of Allegra, who glared up at him with all the loathing she could muster, and folded his arms, barring her way. "What 'ave we got 'ere?"

Allegra drew herself up to her full height, which wasn't far, with all the dignity a three-and-a-half year old could muster. Having been around James and Teddy all her life she had grown up speaking English almost as well as French and it was in the former that she announced, voice wobbling, "That's my Papa, and you took away his sad face. Give it back!"

"That thing's your daddy?" Ginger sniggered. "You poor kid! Your mama gave herself to a monster!"

Erik had started towards them, but before he could take more than two steps Christine was there. "How dare you say that to my daughter?" she demanded, not caring if he understood her or not, her hand drawn back to strike the lad before she had even considered what she was doing.

Before she could, however, her whole body jumped as an almighty explosion rent the air, a cacophony of sound that made her ears ring and seemed to have come from the very bowels of hell. Ginger was staring in astonishment at something behind her and she turned to see Mr Palmer standing there, holding an enormous musket, its barrel smoking. Though he had clearly fired into the air, the little man sighted the gun, aiming it at Ginger's chest; he glared through his spectacles, and bared his teeth in a growl.

"You have precisely three seconds to get out of my sight before I fire again," he said, his voice outwardly calm though there was slight waver beneath.

"You ain't got no more bullets," Ginger declared, but he didn't look quite so brave any more.

The shopkeeper's finger tightened on the trigger. "Do you really want to take the chance?"

"You won't shoot me!"

"One." The trigger eased back a little more. "Two."

"I ain't done nuttin'!"

"Thre - "

Before the final number was off Mr Palmer's lips, Ginger turned, threw an obscene gesture towards Erik, and disappeared down the alley as fast as his legs would carry him.

For a very long moment no one moved, all of them standing as though frozen in the middle of the snowy street, until the little shopkeeper lowered the gun, reaching into his pocket for a huge spotted handkerchief which he used to liberally mop his brow. "My goodness!" he said brightly. "I wish I'd done that days ago!"

Christine thought she might fall in a heap on the floor. She must have swayed, as Allegra ran to her, clinging to her dress. "Thank you, monsieur," she managed to say.

"Are you all right, ma'am?" he asked, quickly slipping a hand under her elbow. "Perhaps a glass of brandy, or some smelling salts - "

"That will not be necessary," Erik said, his voice close though he was standing ten feet away. He kept his face averted, one hand over the right side, little more than a silhouette as he stepped into the pool of light thrown by the gas lamp. "There was no great damage done. We will all recover."

Mr Palmer looked uncertain, his gaze flickering between Allegra and Christine and this tall, thin apparition in a mud-covered overcoat who now seemed to be poking through the straw in the gutter. "I still think I should call the constable - "

"You have done more than enough." Erik straightened, wearing his mask once more. It was cracked in more than one place, a hole hanging from the eye like a teardrop, but it still did its job of hiding his ravaged features. The other man's eyebrows shot upwards at the sight, but he made no comment.

"If you are quite sure, sir," he said, though he sounded unconvinced. "It might be as best for your wife to come inside and rest for a few minutes; she has suffered a great shock."

Though Christine would have liked nothing more than to sit down, her legs trembling beneath her, she could see that her husband, probably aware that his humiliation had been witnessed, was desperate to be away. He kept his distance from their saviour, shoulders tensed, hands clenched, and he stood on the balls of his feet, ready to flee. She turned back to the shopkeeper.

"Actually, there is one thing you could do to help," she told him, managing a weak smile. "Could you possibly find us a cab?"

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

"Where have you been? I nearly sent Jimmy out to comb the streets!" Teddy exclaimed as the door opened to admit Erik, muddy coat, battered hat, broken mask and all, Allegra in his arms; he swept past her without a word and headed for the stairs. "What the hell happened?"

Christine hurried after him, leaving the little diva standing open-mouthed in the hall. "I'm sorry, Teddy; I'll explain later."

"Christine - " Theodora called, but she disappeared from view behind the bend in the staircase. Meg was there at the top but Christine brushed past her, desperate to catch up with Erik.

By the time she did, he was delivering Allegra into Clothilde's charge, prising her hands away as she tried to cling onto him. "Make sure she isn't left alone," he ordered, taking a moment to look closely at his daughter's tear-stained face before straightening and striding away.

"Papa! _Papa_!" Allegra cried as the bedroom door slammed shut behind him. She balled her fists, face contorted in despair. "I want my papa!"

"Madame - " Clothilde caught hold of Allegra round the middle, preventing her from chasing after her father. The little girl struggled but Christine, though her heart was automatically drawn to her daughter's distress, knew that she had to get to her husband before he did something he would regret.

"Look after her, Clothilde," she said, cursing herself for a bad mother as Allegra's screaming escalated. She broke into a run, hoping against hope that Erik hadn't locked the door.

He hadn't, but he was whirling about the room as she all but fell inside, just a shadow amongst others until she turned on the light. She immediately saw that his side of the dressing table had been cleared and his nightclothes were missing from the chair; as her eyes moved across the scene she saw an open carpet bag on the bed, its contents haphazardly thrown inside. "What are you doing?" she demanded, her voice harsher than she expected.

"Leaving," he said curtly. "I need some time alone."

"Alone? What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I say. You will be better off without me for a while; you will be free to walk around the town without the circus sideshow holding you back." He gathered up the bag and made for the door but she beat him to it, standing in front of him with her arms outstretched. He moved to one side and she went with him; when he moved back she did the same and he gave a growl of frustration.

"You are going nowhere," she told him, chin lifted defiantly. His eyes narrowed with impatience, and he took another step; she merely pressed herself more firmly against the oak panels, spreading across them like a vine.

"Christine, get out of my way." His tone was one she knew well from the old days in the opera house, one that should have spelled danger but for once in her life Christine found she didn't care. Instead she stared him down, unblinking. "You know that I could move you if I wanted to," he said, looming over her.

"Go ahead," she dared him. "I know you won't hurt me."

Erik's head canted to one side, and his eyebrow arched. "Can you be so sure?"

"Yes. At least I thought I could. I thought you loved me."

He exhaled sharply. "Christine, I do not have time for this."

" _Do_ you love me?" she asked, her gaze fixed on his face.

" _Christine_ \- "

"Well, do you?"

There was fury in his eyes now. "For God's sake, woman, you know I do!"

"You have a funny way of showing it!" Christine shouted, not caring at that moment who heard her. She knew that she might only have this one chance to stop him leaving her; if he did, if she let him go, who knew whether he would come back? She raised a finger, stabbing him in the chest. "How can you even think about abandoning us? All because of one incident, because of a bunch of street rats whose opinions mean nothing - "

"It won't just be one incident, though, will it?" he cried, voice rising to match hers. He hurled the bag across the room, tearing off his hat and pointing towards the cracked mask he still wore. "You may be able to ignore the stares, the whispers, but I have heard them, felt the eyes on me everywhere, even in this house! I have tried to disregard them, God knows I have, but it was insanity to think I had managed to get away from it, from the past; it will _always_ be there! It will always follow us!"

"It does not _matter_ \- "

" _It matters to me_!" he roared. "All this time I have been deceiving myself. I will never escape from this face! My daughter has finally seen me, the real me!" That magnificent voice caught in a sob. "I only ever wanted her to know the man, not the monster, but now she has seen me grovelling in the dirt and she must be disgusted to know what her father really is!"

"Erik, _she is a child_!" He flung himself away from her but she followed, desperately grabbing for his wrists. Though he fought her she held on tight with strength she hadn't known she possessed, somehow managing to force him backwards, across the room, until he overbalanced onto the bed. Christine fell on top of him, pinning his arms above his head. For a moment they just lay there, both breathing heavily; at any other time such a position might have been arousing, but not now, not when she could see the distress, the barely-concealed terror in his eyes. Releasing one hand she took hold of the mask, gently removing it. His eyelids fluttered shut in shame and his breath hitched in his chest as she caressed his distortion. "She is a child," she repeated softly, brushing the scars with the barest tips of her fingers.

"She will hate me," he said in a small voice, shuddering at her touch.

"She loves you, as I do. How could she possibly hate her big, strong papa, the one who sings her songs and tells her stories and will always be there to protect her?" With a long sigh Christine rested her forehead on his shoulder. "Erik, she worships you. I don't think you could do _anything_ to change that."

"I could have killed that boy."

"You didn't," she reminded him.

"Part of me wanted to. God help me, even in my darkest days I would never have harmed a child."

"Erik, you didn't. You may have scared him but the only thing hurt was his pride."

Slowly, tentatively, his free arm came to cradle her waist. "I'm sorry," he whispered raggedly.

"Are you still leaving?"

There was a pause. "Perhaps..." He drew a deep, trembling breath. "Perhaps not tonight."

She sagged in relief, strength seeping away as the adrenalin faded, leaving her shaking, exhausted both in mind and body. They lay there for what felt like forever, neither inclined or even able to move.

At length a tap sounded at the door. Christine braced herself for the arrival of Meg or a curious Theodora, but instead it opened a crack to reveal Allegra, eyes red in her scrubbed face, peering through. "Papa..?" she called hesitantly. "Are you there?"

Christine looked at her husband. The fear still lurked, she could see it, but it was ebbing away. He swallowed hard, and she climbed off him, allowing him to sit up. His dirty coat had left stains on the bedclothes and he looked more like a scarecrow than the urbane gentleman she was used to, but when he held out his arms Allegra ran to him without hesitation, climbing onto his lap and winding her arms about his neck. Christine sat beside them, one hand on her daughter's back as Allegra held on tight, Erik's grip on her almost as fierce.

"Why did they do that, Papa?" the little girl asked, the words muffled by his collar. "Why did they take your sad face away?"

He gulped; his voice, when it emerged thick with emotion. "Because I'm different, petite. Just because I'm different."

"It was horrible, horrible!"

"I know, sweetheart." He stroked her hair, but Christine could see he was not really registering what she was saying. A tear trickled its way down the bumps and dips of the deformed side of his face. "Papa's face _is_ horrible. So horrible..."

"No." Allegra shook her head fiercely and he jumped, surprised. "The boys, _they_ were horrible. They took Cesar and they've made you cry." She pulled away a little to look him full in the face, just as she had done all her life; she had never shown the slightest trace of fear, accepting it instantly, from the moment she first saw him. "Papa, don't cry. Their mamas will punish them for what they did."

Erik tried to smile despite himself, but it went wrong around the edges. "Do you... do you really think so?"

"Of course they will," she told him as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "That's what mamas do."

"I suppose so." He looked at Christine, and there was wonder in his gaze. "So young. So wise."

She nodded. "And desperate for your guidance."

"You're not different, Papa," Allegra whispered. "You're special." As she hugged him again, her perfect cheek pressed against his ravaged one, this time Erik really did cry, great hoarse sobs that seemed to come from the very depths of his being. Allegra, startled and almost crushed by her father's embrace, reached out to her mother for help; Christine, her own eyes wet, wrapped her arms around them both.

"Yes," she murmured, rocking her little family as the broken mask stared up at her from the counterpane. "So very, very special..."

* * *

It was a subdued breakfast room to which she descended the next morning.

Christine knew that they were all trying not to make it obvious that they were desperate to know what had happened; when neither she nor Erik left their room all evening she had been aware of footsteps and whispering outside the door, hearing Madame Giry's sharp response to a muffled question of Meg's but too tired to care what they might have been discussing. Dinner was left on a tray on the landing but even when she dared to fetch it, checking first that the coast was clear, they had little appetite. Erik spent most of the night in the armchair, trying to mend his mask, while she dozed amongst the pillows, watching the shadow of his profile as the lamp threw it onto the curtains behind him. When she eventually woke to the sound of the traffic outside in the street his head had nodded onto his chest; the mask lay in his lap, its cracks still obvious. Christine put it aside and covered him with the eiderdown, tucking in his cold hands and dropping a kiss onto his hair. Despite her fitful sleep it seemed shock was still affecting her; as she splashed some cold water on her face a sudden desire to retch had her hunching over the lavatory, trying to be quiet as she rid herself of the little she had eaten.

She said nothing now as she helped herself to some eggs that she didn't really want, her stomach still churning, and took a seat next to Meg; one of the maids came forward with a coffee pot and she nodded, eyes fixed almost hypnotically on the liquid as it slowly filled the cup. Steam rose lazily into the air. Across the table Teddy was making her way through a pile of letters; Jimmy fixed his attention on the _Morning Chronicle_. It was clear from her fidgeting that Meg was eager to speak but miraculously she held back, concentrating for now on her breakfast. The ticking of the clock as the pendulum moved back and forth was as loud as a bass drum.

Eventually it was Madame Giry who broke the silence. "Is Erik not coming down?" she enquired lightly once they were alone, spreading the thinnest layer of butter onto her toast.

Christine shook her head. "He had a bad night; I thought it best to let him sleep."

"You don't look as though you had a much better night yourself, my dear," her old teacher told her and she couldn't argue, having seen the dark circles under her own eyes in the mirror.

"Shall I ask the kitchen to send him up something to eat?" Teddy asked, reaching for the bell.

"Thank you, but I think it would be best to leave him. He needs some... time. We were all somewhat shaken yesterday." Now they were all looking at her, and Christine sighed. "I suppose you have a right to know the truth. There was an... altercation, at the toyshop."

"Desperate Christmas shoppers fighting over the last paper theatre?" Jimmy suggested, only for Teddy to slap him on the arm. He smiled, and Christine returned it, knowing he was only trying to lighten the mood.

"Erik's mask was broken," she explained. "I don't want to go into detail; it would only embarrass him, but I think he will be keeping to our room from now on."

"Oh, Christine, how awful for you," said Meg; her hand moved to cover her friend's, squeezing her fingers. Christine tried not to cry; she felt so drained she could weep at any moment. "And poor Erik!"

"I thought something must have happened," Teddy mused. "I can't remember the last time I saw him so angry. He looked ready to murder someone last night."

Madame Giry shot her a sharp look at the words but the little diva didn't appear to notice. "Was his face exposed?" the ballet mistress asked. When Christine nodded Madame's lips tightened; there was a sharp intake of breath from Meg. James and Teddy exchanged a glance; they had seen Erik's deformity early in their acquaintance and knew exactly what the mask concealed.

"I think it might be best if we returned to Paris," Christine said, only to hear Meg start to protest. She raised her voice across it. "Jimmy, would you mind making the arrangements?"

"Of course, only too happy, but you really don't have to, you know," he told her seriously. "The house is yours; you can stay or go as much as you please." He turned to Theodora. "Right Teddy?"

"Couldn't have said it better myself," she agreed. "Honey, we love to have you both around, but if you need to keep to yourselves I can have the staff uncover one of the suites upstairs for you; you'll have as much space as you need. I'm pretty sure one of them even has a piano."

"Thank you both, but I think it would be better if we went home. I won't be able to relax and I don't want to spoil your Christmas," Christine said honestly. She pushed back her chair, no longer remotely interested in food. "I had better check on Allegra. If you would find out the next available sailing, Jimmy, I'll start packing our things."

"Christine, you can't leave!" Meg cried, holding onto her hand. "Remember how sick you were on the boat! You said you would never sail again!"

"Meg - " Christine began, but she was cut off by a familiar voice.

"Sailing? Are you planning a boating trip?" Erik asked. Her head shot up in surprise to see him standing by the door, long fingers resting lightly on the handle. Though he looked tired he was as smart and polished as ever in the new pinstriped suit she had chosen a few weeks before, hair carefully smoothed back; only the damage to his mask spoiled the picture, a reminder of the previous evening. When he realised everyone was looking at him his eyebrow arched. "What's the matter? Have I missed breakfast?"

* * *

Everyone left them alone once it was established that nobody was going to run back to France any time soon.

Christine sat beside Erik as he ate, his face bare thanks to Teddy's promise to keep the servants away. It was awkward for him to eat with the mask on but with so many prying eyes about the house until now he had had no choice in the matter. Much to her surprise he actually made good work of the eggs and bacon she put in front of him; his appetite was often sporadic and her own had yet to return, the anxiety of last night still twisting her insides.

"I thought we wouldn't be seeing you downstairs again," she remarked when he pushed away his plate, reaching for the coffee cup instead.

"Yes." He looked uncomfortable, rubbing the back of his neck; there was probably a crick in it from sleeping in the chair. "I had a lot of time to think while you were sleeping. I owe you many apologies for my behaviour yesterday."

"I forgave you then, and I still do. I _do_ understand," Christine told him.

"I know, I know you do." Erik offered her a hand and she took it; his fingers wrapped around hers. "I should never have said what I did, it was unfair of me."

"You were angry, and scared. Right or wrong, when we feel that way we lash out at those we love. It's not the first time."

"I would rather it was the last." He sighed, thumb stroking her wedding ring. "I don't deserve you, Christine."

"I seem to recall that we've had this conversation more than once in the past," she said, getting up to kiss his ravaged cheek. "My answer hasn't changed. Have you seen Allegra this morning?"

Mentioning their daughter's name seemed to ground him. "No. I went to her in the early hours; she was crying, a nightmare. I managed to calm her down, get her back to sleep eventually, but do you know what she said? Now that my 'sad face' is broken I don't have to wear it any more. She is a marvel."

"And is very much her papa's girl." Christine smiled ruefully. "It's not me she calls for when she has bad dreams."

"She will need you more and more as she grows," Erik said sagely, as though he was an expert on child-rearing and hadn't been scared out of his wits when Allegra was born. "There will come a time when her papa can't help, however much he would like to."

"Hopefully that won't be for a while; I'd hate to see you made redundant. Are you going to be all right, amongst everyone?" she asked, and he nodded, releasing a slow breath.

"I won't pretend I find it easy, but I can only hide for so long," he admitted. "I think I may have had enough of running away."

"I'm glad," Christine said, and he smiled, that little upward twist of the good side of his mouth that seemed to be reserved just for her. "You shouldn't have to run."

They were disturbed by a tentative knock on the door; Erik immediately turned away, replacing the mask, as she got up to answer it, thankfully finding only Theodora on the other side. The little diva was looking harried, face creased in annoyance and usually immaculately coiffed chestnut hair escaping from its pins; glancing behind her to check that the corridor was empty she bustled into the room.

"Teddy, what on earth is the matter?" Christine asked.

Ignoring her, Teddy addressed Erik. "Maestro, I need your wife," she announced. "It's a matter of life and death."

"Well, if that is the case you had better have her," he replied, amused. Christine looked between the two in consternation. "Though I think you may need to ask her as well."

"Would someone mind telling me what is going on?" she enquired, hands on her hips.

"Trouble," said Teddy, turning to her. "The battle-axe is here and she wants to speak to you."

Erik whistled. "The formidable Mrs Eckhart? You had better hurry, my love; the queen of the socialites won't like to be kept waiting."

"Tough," Christine retorted bluntly and he blinked in surprise; the expression could have come straight out of Theodora's mouth. He bit his lip to keep from laughing. "Why does she want to meet me, Teddy? She can't even know who I am!"

"No, but she's somehow found out that you're staying with me and she's got a bee in her bonnet about it," Teddy explained. "Her husband has a habit of popping over to Paris, probably to escape from her, and guess what he does when he's there..?"

"He visits the opera," Christine and Erik chorused.

"Exactly. She's been rambling on about how she wants to give him a surprise as a Christmas present and she needs people from the Populaire."

"You're from the Populaire," Christine pointed out.

"I know, but I wasn't there five years ago; you were. Oh, come on, Christine, _please_?" Teddy wheedled. "She won't go until she's spoken to you; I've encountered less tenacious barnacles."

"I don't know - "

"You would be doing me a huge favour..."

"Oh, all right!" Christine threw up her hands, defeated. "I'm going to remember this," she told Theodora when the prima donna cheered.

"Fantastic." Teddy grabbed her hand, towing her towards the door. "Come on; she hates being kept waiting and she's probably poking her nose in where it's not wanted so she can tell tales on me to the duke. I'll fill you in on the way..."

* * *

"I don't see what possible use I can be to Mrs Eckhart!" Christine exclaimed, trying to keep her voice low as she followed her friend across the hall. "Why would she ask for me? I don't even work at the Populaire any more!"

"Well, she didn't ask for you by name," Teddy admitted, pausing by the mirror to try and salvage her hair. Raking her fingers through it she twisted it back into its chignon with an expert flick and stabbed a few pins into the result. Amazingly, it looked much better; Christine knew if she tried that all she would be left with was a ball of frizz. "She's looking for anyone who was in the company in 1881 and you were, weren't you?"

"In the corps de ballet, yes. You might have just as well have asked Meg; we were there together."

"You were a dancer?" Theodora frowned at her reflection. "You've never mentioned that. I thought you were all set to be prima? Erik told me the critics raved about your debut, thought you were going to be the star of the century."

"Yes. Well, there were a few unforeseen circumstances."

"One of them being Carlotta Guidicelli?" Teddy arched an eyebrow. "I know all about La Carlotta; I worked with her brother long enough."

"It's a little more complicated than that," Christine said, grateful that Antonio Rossi was not exactly close to his half sister. Her friend looked disappointed when she offered no more explanation but didn't question it.

"Well, never mind." With a final pat to her hair, Teddy turned back to her. She smiled wickedly. "Mrs Eckhart probably just wants to check you didn't sleep with her husband."

" _Teddy_!"

"I'm joking! Just be yourself; she doesn't bite, but she does have a habit of asking awkward questions so be prepared."

"Maybe we should get Erik to speak to her instead; he _does_ bite, and I'm sure he'd get rid of her for you," Christine suggested, some evil little part of her enjoying the little diva's horrified expression. Teddy's eyes had widened so much they looked as though they might pop out of her head.

"You wouldn't - ! I'd never live it down! Christine - "

"No, I wouldn't. But only because I love you," Christine told her, much to Theodora's relief. "You have to cultivate a better relationship between your mouth and your brain, Teddy, before you _really_ land yourself in hot water."

"I've tried, but it's hard to change the habit of a lifetime. Come on, she'll be getting antsy." Teddy led the way to the drawing room door; there was a footman stationed outside who opened it as they approached. Christine didn't think she'd ever get used to having so many staff around; they seemed to pop up everywhere, anticipating her needs often before she even knew what they were. She had a sudden wild urge to send them all away so that she could be free from their soft tread and covert glances and feel normal again.

There was a plump woman in late middle age sitting on one of the sofas as they entered. She was swathed in a puce silk walking dress, a froth of expensive lace at the throat, and her extravagant flower-pot hat was decorated with ribbons and artificial flowers and what Christine thought might even have been a stuffed bird, the feathers dyed to match; the iron-grey hair had been beneath expertly frizzed and curled into a style that would have better suited someone younger. When her steely blue eyes alighted on them her mouth settled into a thin line, as though she had seen something of which she disapproved.

"So," she boomed before Teddy could open her mouth, her accent bearing a distinct twang, " _You're_ the girl from Paris. Do you speak English or must we converse in your tongue?"

" _My_ tongue would actually be Swedish," Christine replied, nettled by the woman's tone; once she would have been cowed by such an attitude but the trials of the last few years and being married to an ex-opera ghost had had a transformative effect upon her confidence. "I do understand English but we can speak in French if you prefer."

"I _don't_ prefer," Mrs Eckhart declared, continuing without preamble, "I will come straight to the point: my husband saw Chalumeau's _Hannibal_ at the Populaire a few years ago and he was very taken with it. I believe you were involved in that production, Miss...?"

"Mrs," Christine corrected, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar term. "Mrs Claudin. And yes, I was. I was a member of the corps de ballet at the Opera Populaire at the time."

"A dancer?" The other woman spat out the word as though it was something distasteful. "That is not what I was expecting. I was led to understand you were a singer."

"Christine has since moved on become a leading soprano of the company; she would have gone far had she not retired from the stage," Teddy put in. "I've worked with her on many productions and it has always been an absolute pleasure."

"Retired?" Mrs Eckhart repeated. She looked Christine up and down; Christine felt like a schoolgirl being examined by the headmistress, one who had untidy plaits and mud on her stockings. "Aren't you a little young for that?"

"I have a husband and a small daughter, Madame," Christine explained. "They are far more important to me than fame."

"I see." The older woman regarded her down an impressive nose. "Good answer. And does your husband approve of your previous life as a performer?"

"My husband also works at the Populaire; he directs the chorus. It was at the theatre that we met, in fact - "

"I don't care about that," Mrs Eckhart snapped, interrupting. "I hold a little soiree every year for the Americans living in London, to raise money for charity; perhaps Theodora has told you about it?"

"She may have mentioned it once or twice," Christine said, casting a glance at Teddy, who shrugged.

"Good. I assume since you were in the cast of _Hannibal_ that you are aware of the Elissa aria from Act Three? Or were the ballet corps not involved in that particular scene?"

_I know it better than anyone_ , Christine thought, remembering the endless lessons when her Angel of Music would take her through the piece over and over until she could practically sing it backwards. "I believe I recall the tune," she said, and the other woman nodded.

"It is my husband's favourite; didn't stop humming it for months. I wish to make him a Christmas present of a personal performance; I did make enquiries as to engaging the singer but was told she had returned to Italy some time ago. A shame, as he was in raptures over her voice."

"That is unfortunate, Madame," Christine said, hearing a snigger, hastily smothered from Teddy and trying not to smile. She wondered what Erik would say when she told him there were still some admirers of La Carlotta in the world.

"Indeed, but it cannot be helped. I am sure he will enjoy the aria just as much with a different singer." Before her previous statement could be fully absorbed, Mrs Eckhart asked, "I assume, since he is involved in the business himself, that your husband will not object to your taking part in my concert?"

Christine blinked in surprise at the unexpected question. "I am sure he would be quite content, but I don't think I quite understand," she replied. "Are you asking _me_ to sing?"

"Of course, girl! Do you think I want you to pick up your pointe slippers?" Mrs Eckhart demanded. She huffed an impatient sigh. "I'm going to be honest: to me you don't look like an opera singer. In fact, you look as though you might blow away in a stiff wind, but if Theodora says you can sing I will take her word for it. Will you do it?"

"I will - "

"Excellent!" Without waiting for Christine to even finish her sentence, Mrs Eckhart steamed onward. She got to her feet, one hand on the polished top of a long Malacca cane, an impressive sight with a bustle under her skirt that made her look twice as big from the side. "The concert will be on Christmas Eve at my home in Mayfair," she said. "There will be a very exclusive audience and I will not tolerate lateness so make sure that you arrive promptly with enough time to organise yourself. Make sure you are well-rehearsed; I do not care for time-wasters and I do not wish to disappoint my husband by presenting him with a mediocre performance. I have engaged an orchestra; if you require accompaniment separate from that provided it will be your affair to arrange it. Theodora will give you the details. I think that is all. Good morning to you both." She moved towards the door, looking at neither of them and completely disregarding Christine's attempts to protest, disappearing into the hall before anyone could say a word.

Christine stared after her in dismay. "I didn't agree to anything!" she cried.

"She has a tendency to get you like that," said Teddy, apparently unconcerned. "How do you think I ended up getting involved in this thing?"

"I don't _want_ to be involved!" Christine whirled to face her friend, catching Teddy by the elbows. "You have to get me out of this," she begged. "I can't be ready to sing in front of an audience in less than a week! I'm too out of practise!"

"You'll be fine," Theodora soothed. "Besides, you've got the best teacher in the business! There's no need to worry!"

"Yes, there is." Christine was well aware that Erik wanted her to perform again, but surely he hadn't intended her to return so soon, so unprepared! "There's no time! It will be a disaster!"

"What makes you say that, my dear?" her angel asked from behind her. In her distraction she hadn't even noticed that he had come into the room, the sixth sense she had developed over the years that alerted her to his stealthy presence failing.

"I suppose you heard all of that?" Teddy enquired archly.

"Not all, but enough. That woman has the loudest voice." He winced. "It really is most unpleasant on the ear."

Christine sat down heavily. "What are we going to do? I can't be ready by Christmas Eve!"

"Of course you can!" The stern tone in Erik's voice immediately made her look up at him. He shook his head in disappointment. "Christine, _Christine_... have you forgotten everything I taught you?"

"No, of course not. But it's too soon; I hadn't even considered returning to the stage! I'm not ready - "

"We will make you ready." He offered her a hand, drawing her to him. There was a smile turning up the visible side of his mouth. "Don't you want to make an admirer of the Guidicelli breathless with your voice?"

Christine glanced at Teddy; the little diva waved a dismissive hand. "Don't look at me; this is between you two. But I would be grateful for your participation, you know that."

Torn, Christine turned back to her husband; he regarded her evenly, head on one side. As she met his eyes, somewhere in the back of her mind she could feel the music, hear the applause. A shiver of anticipation rippled down her spine. "All right," she said. "I'll do it."

Theodora cheered. "And they call Christmas the season of miracles!"

"Perhaps," Erik agreed. "But first we have a lot of work to do..."

* * *

"Christine, that's wonderful!" Meg squealed, throwing her arms around her friend. "I'm so happy for you!"

"Indeed." Madame Giry's lips lifted in a bare approximation of a smile. "Are you sure this is what you want?" she asked seriously. "No one is making you do it?"

"Well, I wasn't exactly given much choice; Mrs Eckhart doesn't wait to hear anyone's answer," Christine said, embracing Meg as she hung around her neck. "Now I've accepted it's happening I think I'm quite looking forward to it."

"Good." The ballet mistress nodded, apparently satisfied. "You will need to work hard; there is not much time."

"I know, and that's what terrifies me more than anything. Will you help me prepare, Madame? It has been so long that I doubt I can remember the choreography; so much of that performance is a blur."

"We'll both help," Meg insisted before her mother could reply. "We need to find you a scarf, and - oh! It's such a shame it's too late to send to Paris for your costume! It must still be there in the wardrobe."

"It doesn't matter, Meg; I doubt we could get to it with the theatre being closed," Christine pointed out. "Besides, I shouldn't think it would fit me any more! I've filled out a bit since I had Allegra."

Meg looked at her, forehead creased. "Oh, don't be so ridiculous! Look at the size of your waist; it's tiny! And your hips - ! I wish I were as thin as you." She squinted, considering. "I suppose your chest has grown a bit."

" _That_ is definitely bigger than it was," Christine agreed. "I've had to give new measurements to the dressmaker twice. Erik seems to like it, though." She flushed, realising what she had said.

Meg just laughed. "I bet he does," she muttered with a snicker.

In contrast, Madame Giry's expression practically dripped disapproval. Sometimes Christine found it very hard to picture the ballet mistress as a young woman; she supposed she must have been carefree and in love at some point but it was so hard to imagine. Maybe she should ask Erik about it, but then even he hadn't known Madame in her youth. "I think we've heard quite enough," she said frostily. "There is a ballroom here, I believe. As we have only a few days to prepare I suggest we start rehearsals at once."

Meg rolled her eyes. "Practise, always practise," she grumbled. "We're supposed to be on holiday!"

Madame was already heading down the corridor but her sharp ears didn't miss the words. "I heard that, Meg Giry. Perhaps while we are here you can show me that you have been working on your temps de cuisse!"

"Yes, Maman," Meg replied dutifully before she channelled her inner five-year-old and stuck her tongue out at her mother's back.

* * *

Christine leaned against the piano that stood at one end of the drawing room watching her husband as he threw out his coattails, settling himself on the stool. The instrument was a Steinway, glossy black and in perfect pitch, obviously kept in tune despite apparently having seen little attention in its life. Erik's fingers trailed up and down the keys, his touch feather light. His eyes closed briefly in pleasure as he teased out a few bars of Elissa's farewell to her lover; a shiver ran down her spine and she realised she had never actually heard him play it before, their lessons at the time conducted through the mirror by voice alone.

"Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?" she asked. "The doctor told you not to work for a month and it's only been three weeks."

"Would you deny a thirsty man water, Christine?" The key changed, the tone becoming darker, more introspective. While the notes were the same, under his ministrations the aria became something else altogether, much heavier, more dangerous. A threat rather than a plea.

"I don't want you to overtax yourself," she told him. "You know what the doctor said - "

Lifting one hand from the keyboard he captured her own, bringing it to his lips. "His instructions are engraved upon my heart, my sweet, I assure you. There is no need to worry about me."

"I can't help it. Especially after what happened the other day - "

"Forget that," Erik said firmly. "We have far more pleasant subjects to occupy us. Are you ready to begin?"

With a sigh Christine nodded, straightening and trying to recall muscle memory that had long since relaxed. "Just promise not to be cross because I'm rusty. It's been a long time since I've sung anything like this."

"You were trained well enough not to forget. It should be like slipping on an old pair of shoes; your body will instinctively fall into the correct posture." He leant on the piano lid, watching her through narrowed eyes as she struggled to lift her chest, broadening her collarbones. After viewing her efforts critically for a few minutes he got to his feet, coming to stand behind her. One hand spread across her diaphragm, the other rested in the small of her back. "Feet apart," he said, "Keep your shoulders low and back. Imagine there is an invisible string holding up your head and relax your jaw into a neutral position."

"This is bringing back memories," Christine remarked, doing her best not to lean into him. Having his fingers spread across her stomach like this was sending a flock of butterflies through her insides. "Except that when we started my lessons you couldn't touch me." She glanced behind her at the looking glass that hung on the wall. "Do you want to call through the mirror from the other room, just for old time's sake?"

He snorted. "No, thank you. I would not want to return to those days; they were full of loneliness and frustration. Don't lock out your knees."

"How can you tell what my knees are doing? You can't see them," she pointed out but he just smiled and returned to the piano.

"Your posture is very revealing," he replied. "Shall we try some scales?"

They did. And then the beginning of the aria. As Christine began to push her voice again it did not take long for her to remember the techniques he had drilled into her so often in the past but she was so unpractised; she cracked and hit the wrong notes on occasion much to Erik's frustration. When she went wrong he would return to the opening bars and start again, driving her back relentlessly over the same lines until she was breathless and desperate for a respite.

"Again, Christine! You were a fraction out there and your phrasing was clumsy. Sing it again!"

She did, forcing herself not to stumble. " _Fly away, but when you lie awake, remember how we used to be_ \- "

"Wrong! Try again!"

" _Fly away, but when you_ \- "

"No! Still wrong! You can do better than this, you know you can. From the beginning of the line!"

"Erik - "

" _Again_!" he snarled, slamming his hands down on the keys. The cacophonous sound made Christine jump, ruining her posture. Taking a deep breath to calm herself she strode round to him and banged shut the cover, nearly trapping his fingers. Startled by this transgression, he slowly turned his head to look at her, mismatched eyes wide in surprise; she nearly laughed, as in that moment he looked just like Allegra when she was caught doing something naughty.

"No," she said. "I'm a human being, not an automaton. I need a rest."

Erik sucked his teeth for a moment, considering, before he admitted, "I'm pushing you too hard."

"Just a little. I'd forgotten what a slave driver you can be," she told him and he groaned.

"It's been so long since I last heard your voice. It has... an effect on me."

Christine slid onto his lap, draping her arms around his neck. "I can feel that," she murmured, pressing her lips to the good side of his; her nose bumped uncomfortably against his mask and she reached round for the cord that secured it, silencing his protest when she lifted it off, laying it on the piano lid behind them.

"Is this wise?" he breathed, nuzzling the sensitive spot below her ear as though he could taste the thrumming of her pulse.

She pulled back slightly, caressing his ruined cheek. "Everyone is out; Teddy's in a rehearsal and the others have taken Allegra to the zoo. They won't be back for hours."

"Ah." There was a familiar anticipation in his eyes. "You required a break, did you not?" Without waiting for an answer he captured her lips once more. One of his hands came up to cradle the back of her head, fingers twisting in her hair; the other landed on her waist, pulling her closer, and she was quite happy to melt against him. A moan fluttered in her throat and her eyes closed as he deepened the kiss, stroking her hip –

"I'm sorry, ma'am, sir, but there's been an urgent message for Miss Merriman – oh!"

At the intrusion of a new voice Erik and Christine broke apart, instinctively jumping back from one another as though they had been burned. Slowly they turned towards the doorway and the maid who stood there, blushing furiously. The poor girl looked as though she wasn't sure in which direction to turn her eyes; Christine could feel the heat in her own face as she stood, smoothing down her skirts and shifting her stance to try and hide her discomfited husband from view.

The maid, obviously absolutely mortified to have discovered them in a heated embrace, fixed her gaze at a spot well over their heads. "I r-really am sorry, ma'am," she said, the words shaking as much as the rest of her. "I d-did knock - "

"It's all right," Christine replied. "We should have given instructions we were not to be disturbed. What was the message?"

"M-Mrs Eckhart's secretary telephoned. There is a choir rehearsal at ten o'clock tomorrow morning; the soloist has been taken ill and she wants Miss Merriman to arrange a replacement. "

"Very well, I will let Mademoiselle Merriman know."

"Thank you, ma'am." The girl bobbed a curtsy and fled, but not before her eyes flicked back towards the piano. As the door shut behind her, Christine realised she had been looking at Erik's mask, bright against the black polished wood of the lid. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Do you think she saw?" he asked, shifting awkwardly as he tried to recover himself. His head was bowed, his good cheek flushed with embarrassment.

Christine's eyes wandered away from the mask. "I think she saw something," she said, and he glanced up, following her gaze to the enormous mirror behind him, the one that was currently reflecting his deformity in all its glory back into the room.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

Erik stared in horror at his own reflection.

The mirrors at either end of the room bounced it back and forth, disappearing into infinity, every twist, scar and distortion plainly visible; the damage clear for all to see. A dreadful howl escaped him and for a moment Christine held her breath, almost expecting him to smash the glass, desperate to remove the image of his own face; to her surprise he collapsed to his knees on the carpet, head sinking into his hands.

"She saw. Dear God, she _saw_!" he moaned."She saw _me_!"

"It was my fault," Christine told him, resting a hand on his quaking back. "I was not thinking; I am so used to no one walking in on us - "

"No. No, it is my fault." His voice was muffled but she could still make out the words. "We should never have come. So many prying eyes... I should have known better. I am a _fool_!"

"It is all right," she insisted, crouching, trying to see his face. He turned it away from her, hunching further, using his arms as a barrier to stop her touching him. "Erik, it's all right. Nothing will happen - "

She nearly toppled over onto her backside when he suddenly swung around, glaring at her through his fingers. " _All right_?" he hissed. "You think that girl is going to keep what she has just seen to herself? She will be in the kitchen right now, warning her colleagues about the monster they have been serving for the past week! In a few minutes the whole street will know!"

"No, they will not. And if they do, what does it matter?" Christine grabbed for his hands; he tried to pull away, nearly overbalancing himself, but she refused to let go. Dragging them from his face she took it instead between her own, her thumbs stroking both perfect and ravaged cheeks. "What were you saying earlier about being tired of hiding?"

The fight seemed to drain out of him as she spoke; Erik hung his head, gaze now fixed miserably on the carpet. "It doesn't make any difference. The reaction will always be the same."

"It - " There was a knock at the door, a sharp rap this time that could be heard clearly. Erik jumped like a rabbit sensing the approach of a wolf and scrabbled at the piano lid for his mask; it slipped from his unsteady grasp onto the rug, the impact deepening the cracks across its surface. He forced it on nonetheless, trying to smooth down his hair and straighten his tie with trembling fingers; a frantic attempt to return himself to the masterful Phantom of a few minutes before. Christine climbed to her feet, standing on tiptoe to kiss the broken porcelain before turning towards the door.

"Who is there?" she called out.

"It is Baines, madam, the butler. May I come in?"

She glanced at Erik; he gave her a terse nod. "Of course."

The door opened, admitting the tall, balding major domo, immaculate in black suit and white gloves. Following him was the maid who had disturbed them earlier, her eyes cast firmly downwards; whether from awkwardness or a desire not to chance catching sight of Erik's face it was hard to tell. Baines stopped a few paces inside the room and offered a bow before announcing, "Forgive the intrusion, sir, madam. Margaret has told me of the unfortunate occurrence a few minutes ago."

"It was an accident," Christine said, but to her surprise he shook his head.

"That is as may be, madam," he replied evenly, "but the fact is she should have waited for admittance before entering. It was a gross transgression on her part; however, I hope that you will allow her to make her apologies before she leaves."

"Leaves?" The use of the word was startling and Christine noticed Erik's gaze flick upwards, a frown touching his forehead. "What do you mean?"

"Her employment will naturally be terminated," the butler explained in a tone that suggested his intention should have been obvious. "Staff are required to give members of the household privacy unless otherwise requested. They must never enter a room without permission. Margaret has clearly failed in her duty, and I am deeply sorry for any distress she may have caused."

"Distress... did she tell you what she saw?" Christine asked.

Baines glanced at the girl by his side. Margaret looked more than a little distressed herself; there was a handkerchief balled between her fingers and she was biting her lip as though to stop herself crying. "I believe she saw - " he began, but before he could get any further Margaret blurted out,

"I s-saw your face, sir! I'm so terribly sorry, but I-I couldn't help it! I d-didn't want to, I didn't _mean_ to - " She broke off with a sob, burying her face in her hands. "I'm _so_ sorry!"

Christine was about to respond, to comfort the poor child, but stopped when she felt her husband's hand on her shoulder. He stepped forwards, approaching the trembling maid, who seemed to shake even more as he got closer. When he reached her he held out a hand, gesturing to the sofa; obediently she sat. "What did you see, Margaret?" he enquired softly, taking a seat beside her. Baines watched them both in consternation, but Christine shook her head as he opened his mouth to intervene.

The girl stared up at Erik in amazement, as though she couldn't quite believe he was real. "I-I don't really know, sir."

"Did you see scars?"

"P-perhaps. It was only for a moment."

"Even so, you saw it clearly, in the mirror, did you not?" Erik asked, and reluctantly she nodded. "You can tell me honestly. Don't deny it was a monster you saw."

Margaret blinked, his steady, even tone calming her. She looked at him for a long moment, then, much to everyone's surprise, least of all Erik's, she shook her head. "No, sir, I did not."

"You did not?" He reeled back slightly, as though physically struck by the words. For several seconds his mouth worked silently before he managed, "Then... what...?"

"I saw a man, a – forgive me, sir – a sadly disfigured man, but I did not see a monster." The maid directed a shy glance at Christine, and blushed slightly. "How could he be such a thing when he is so obviously loved by his wife?"

"How indeed?" Christine agreed, overcome by a sudden urge to hug the girl in gratitude.

"I..." It was a very rare occurrence to see Erik lost for words. His gaze softened, and for a brief moment it seemed he might cry himself, but managed to restrain any emotion that might have been just beneath the surface. His hand hovered above those Margaret clasped in her lap, as though he wanted to touch her, to articulate his thanks, before pulling away; instead he turned to Baines. "I know I have no power in this house, Mr Baines," he said, mustering his battered authority, "but I would take it very ill if you put this girl out onto the street because of a genuine mistake. She did no harm and should not suffer from it."

Baines's expression was disapproving, but he did not argue, merely stating, "The decision will rest with his Grace, sir."

"So be it. I shall vouch for her."

"She won't be turned out now, will she?" Christine asked anxiously; Margaret's worry was obvious in her wide eyes and furrowed brow.

The butler straightened, clasping his hands behind his back. "His Grace will not return from the continent until next month. I believe the ruling can be delayed until then."

Margaret visibly relaxed. As if suddenly realising she was sitting down in the presence of the duke's guests (or rather the duke's guests-by-proxy), she jumped to her feet, wiping at her reddened eyes with her ruined handkerchief. With a magician's flourish Erik produced one of his own which he handed to her; she took it with a watery smile. "Thank you, sir. And you, too, madam," she added, turning to Christine. "You're both very understanding."

"We have had a lot of practise," Christine assured her, and the girl nodded as though she understood.

There was a pause; no one quite seemed to know what to do or say until Baines declared, "Well, come along, girl, back to your duties. I think we have taken enough of Monsieur and Madame Claudin's time." He ushered her towards the door, but before he reached it stopped and turned back to them. He cleared his throat. "I hope you will not think me presumptuous, sir, but should you wish to have the mask mended I would be pleased to deal with it personally. I know of a man in the right trade who is very skilled and extremely discreet."

Erik's brow arched in surprise. "Thank you, Mr Baines," he said, and the butler nodded and withdrew, closing the door silently behind him.

Alone once more, Christine waited a moment before she wrapped her arms around her husband's waist, drawing him close. "Now do you understand what I've been trying to tell you?"

"Incredible." There was genuine bewilderment in his eyes. "I really can't believe it. That she could say such things to me after seeing what I really am..."

"It wasn't just Margaret," she said; when he looked at her, uncomprehending, she nodded towards the mirror. His unblemished side had been towards her during his conversation with Margaret and she had not noticed until just now what had evidently been clear to Baines: that the mask was now damaged beyond repair. A great crack rent it, the lining split, revealing much of that which it had been crafted to conceal. "Baines could see your face all the time, but he never treated you any differently.

"It seems this is the season of miracles after all."

"I think you may be right." He discarded the remains, bending his head to touch his lips to hers. "Christine - "

"Christine! Christine, where are you?"

He swore as whatever he had been going to say was cut off when the drawing room door opened again, this time to admit a breathless Meg, hat askew and carrying a large roll of paper under her arm. Behind her came James and Madame Giry, the latter holding Allegra by the hand. The little girl was clutching what looked like another stuffed animal to add to her collection.

"Good God, this room is worse than the Place de l'Opera!" Erik bellowed. "Is there no privacy anywhere in this house?"

Meg's eyes widened, gaze running over them both. Her mouth twitched. "Sorry, are we interrupting something?"

"No," Christine assured her at the same moment Erik said,

"Yes!"

"What's the matter, Meg?" Christine asked.

Meg watched Erik for a moment as he stalked to the other end of the room, coming to rest in front of the Christmas tree. "We've made an interesting discovery," she said, and her smile widened as she saw him turn, just slightly, showing he was listening.

"Have you found out what Mrs Eckhart's rival from Philadelphia is planning?" Christine allowed herself to be pulled over to the sofa; as she sat down Allegra climbed onto her lap, holding up her new toy with sticky fingers. It was a camel, covered in shaggy beige fur.

"Not a chance," Jimmy replied. "I've been trying for weeks to get some information, and nothing. It's only an amateur show but it's been locked up tighter than Fort Knox!"

"Then what - ?"

"On our way back from Regent's Park we passed the Old Court Theatre," Meg explained. "They're putting on an opera."

Christine frowned. "That's hardly earth-shattering news. Theatres stage operas all the time."

Jimmy lit up a cigar. "You wait till you hear what they're doing,"

"It's _Hannibal_!" exclaimed Meg before Christine could even open her mouth. "With props and costumes shipped over from the Populaire. It looks like Marigny and Fontaine are trying to make some money while the theatre is closed by hiring them out."

" _Our_ props and costumes? From our production?"

Meg nodded. "Even the elephant. The man at the stage door said so."

"But why - "

"I'm afraid it gets worse," said Madame Giry. "They are advertising the cast as the originals from Paris."

Christine stared in astonishment. "They – but they can't! It would be a lie; half the company has changed over the last few years! I am already here and no one has approached me. Signor Piangi left for Milan years ago!"

"They don't mean you, Christine," Meg told her. Lifting up the roll of paper she was holding, she unfurled it with a flourish. Inside was a poster, almost identical to the ones Christine recalled Monsieur Lefevre commissioning several years before. In the background a man in antique armour rode an angry elephant, its trunk waving wildly, front feet flailing, while in front of him, in the pictorial equivalent of centre stage, was a woman dripping in jewellery, triumphantly holding aloft a severed head. Above them in elaborate script ran the legend:

_By popular demand we present the show that took Paris by storm!_

_Hannibal_

_by Hector Chalumeau_

But that was not all. Beneath it, even bigger letters screamed:

_Starring the legendary Carlotta Guidicelli_

"Oh, my goodness," Christine said. "You don't mean - "

"Oh, yes," Meg replied. "Obviously La Scala got fed up with her.

"Carlotta is back."

* * *

"Christine? Christine, are you there?"

At the tap on the bedroom door Christine hurried to answer it, tying her wrapper around her waist. To her surprise Meg was standing there in her dressing gown and slippers, blonde hair twisted up all over her head in rags and a blanket draped across her shoulders as a barrier against the chill on the landing.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Is it your mother? Allegra? Should I - "

Meg shook her head. "No, it's nothing like that. Can I come in?"

Christine glanced over her shoulder to where Erik lay stretched out in the bed, blankets and comforter pushed halfway down his chest and a open book abandoned on top. One hand trailed across her side of the mattress; his head was back against the pillows and after a moment she heard one of his purring snores.

"All right," she said, opening the door wider to allow Meg inside. "But come into the bathroom; I don't want to wake Erik."

"Goodness, that bath is big," Meg observed when they were alone and Christine had lit a couple of candles. The gas light in the house did not yet extend to the facilities. "Much bigger than mine. Have you tried it?"

"Meg, what do you want?" Christine enquired, ignoring the question. She sat down on the wicker chair in the corner, trying to smother a yawn; Meg took possession of the window sill. "I was just going to turn in."

"I wanted to see if you were all right. You were very quiet at dinner."

"I had a few things to think about."

"Like Carlotta, you mean? You don't have to worry about her," Meg said without waiting for an answer. "She won't know you're in town, and even if she did, surely it's all water under the bridge now. She can't still be jealous of you after all this time."

"I know. It's bringing back uncomfortable memories, that's all," Christine admitted. "You know what Carlotta's like; if she finds out we're here she might start telling everyone what happened in Paris. She hated us enough to try and make trouble."

"Christine, Carlotta hated everyone. Well, except Carlotta. And Signor Piangi, but I wondered about that sometimes."

"She particularly hated me."

"Of course she did!" Meg told her in a tone that suggested it should be blindingly obvious. "You are everything she isn't: young, pretty and talented. No one likes to be reminded of the advancing years."

"That's true." Christine got up, feeling cold; winding her hands into the sleeves of her wrap she paced, the tiles chilly beneath her bare feet. "But still, to be forced out because of me, because of what Erik did - "

"Christine." Meg caught her arm as she passed, standing so that she could look her straight in the eye. "It was time for her to go. The only reason Monsieur Lefevre didn't get rid of her was because she scared him, and Andre and Firmin were no better. I'm not saying what Erik did was right, but he got her to leave; no one else could. It probably did her good, being knocked down from prima donna; maybe she's become a nicer person."

Christine felt an involuntary smile creep onto her face at the suggestion. "Do you really think so?"

"Not for a minute. This _is_ Carlotta we're talking about. And anyway, if she did try to tell someone about what happened, it's all so fantastical who is going to believe her?"

"You're right. I - " All of a sudden, from nowhere at all Christine felt her gorge rise. Clapping a hand hurriedly over her mouth she pulled away from her friend, rushing towards the lavatory. Behind her Meg squeaked in alarm as she threw herself down on the floor, leaning as far over the bowl as she could as her stomach violently rid itself of the dinner she had forced herself to eat earlier. She heaved, breath coming too fast and the room spinning around her, until at last she felt a cool glass being pushed into her hand and raised her head to see a horrified Meg staring at her.

"My goodness!" she exclaimed, pressing a hand to Christine's brow. "You're all clammy! Should I ask someone to call a doctor?"

Christine shook her head. Her mouth felt foul and she took a few sips of water. "I'll be fine," she insisted hoarsely. "It's just nerves; it happens sometimes."

Meg frowned. "How often is 'sometimes'?"

"Once or twice a day. But only since that horrible ferry trip," Christine added quickly. She caught Meg's wrist as the ballerina began to get up. "Meg, don't tell anyone, especially not Erik. He'll only worry and I know it will settle down. It has in the past."

"I don't know..." Meg looked unconvinced. "When did you last feel like this?"

"Not for a while, but it's happened before and I've been perfectly all right in a few days, honestly. I have a delicate stomach, that's all."

"Well, that would make sense. And anyone used to French food would find it hard to like English cooking; maybe it's the menu here that's disagreeing with you."

Christine nodded. "That's probably what it is. Promise me you won't say anything?"

"All right," Meg agreed, though her reluctance was obvious. "But if it gets any worse I'm telling Maman."

"It won't get any worse. Would you help me up?" Christine asked. Her legs felt like jelly and the hand that was holding the glass shook rather more than she would have liked. Leaning on Meg's arm she managed to rise far enough to close the toilet seat and sink down on it, reaching above her for the flush. Meg was still looking at her in concern. "I'll be fine," she said again. "A decent night's sleep will do me the world of good."

"You look as though you need one." Meg bent down and pecked her on the cheek. "If you're absolutely sure you'll be all right I'll leave you to tidy yourself up. Don't come down for breakfast; I'll get Teddy to ask the housekeeper to send you up a tray."

"What about Carlotta?"

"She can get her own breakfast," her friend retorted, and Christine nearly laughed. Meg paused on the threshold. "Go to bed, Christine," she said sternly.

_I would like nothing more_ , Christine thought as she ran a cool cloth over her face. Satisfied that her roiling stomach had calmed down again, she finished the glass of water, ran another and downed that, too. After battling with her tangled hair for a few moments she threw down the brush in defeat and returned to the bedroom, blowing out the candles as she passed. Erik stirred, disturbed by the mattress shifting when she climbed into bed beside him; he automatically lifted an arm for her to slip beneath, drawing her head to rest on his shoulder.

"What time is it?" he asked blearily.

"Nearly one o'clock. Go back to sleep."

She thought he had, and was starting to drift off herself when he spoke again. "Was that Meg I saw leaving our bathroom just now?"

"Yes. She..." Christine hesitated. "She needed to borrow some soap."

Erik grunted. "Would it not be more convenient for her to take her ablutions at a more civilised hour?"

She yawned, curling up around him. "I'll tell her tomorrow."

* * *

" _Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade, they have their seasons, so do we, but please promise me that sometimes, you will think_..."

Closing her eyes, scarf lifted high between both hands almost as an offering, Christine felt a familiar euphoria fill her as she set her voice soaring higher and higher through the spiralling cadenza which ended the aria. She held the top note for what felt like forever, bringing herself almost to the point of breathlessness, before swooping back down, finishing with a flourishing trill. Spent, she collapsed into a deep curtsy, arms held towards the audience in supplication.

"... _of me!_ "

For a long moment there was silence. Then a sharp smattering of applause, growing louder as Meg's enthusiasm overcame her. Christine lifted her head to see her friend grinning broadly; beside her Erik sat at the piano, fingers still resting on the keys. He nodded in approval and she heard his voice whisper " _Bravissima_ " in her left ear; unbidden, a shiver rippled down her spine.

"That was amazing!" Meg exclaimed. "Even better than before! Do you think we could ask the Old Court if they have your old Elissa costume? It would just finish it off."

"What do you think?" Christine asked her husband, getting to her feet. She sat down in a nearby armchair, massaging her back; her body was unused to dancing these days and she wondered whether she should start doing some basic movements again. "They may have been given it with the others."

Erik picked out a scale. "It is a possibility; I will make enquiries. Have you anything else to wear?"

"Only my blue evening gown. I didn't think I would need much in the way of formal dresses and it's much too late to have anything made now."

"Your blue velvet is lovely," Meg told her. "Even in that you'll outshine anyone else on the bill."

"Meg, to listen to your effusiveness one would think Christine was paying you by the compliment," Erik remarked. His hands wandered down the keyboard, teasing out the opening bars of the _Habanera_ from _Carmen_ ; it broke up in a clatter of discord when Meg hugged him from behind.

"Oh, all right. Erik, you look very pretty too," she said cheekily, quickly kissing his distorted cheek before waltzing away.

Christine fought back the laughter that bubbled up as his fingers stole unconsciously towards the spot Meg has kissed, his ears turning pink. He was without his mask; it had been entrusted, not without some vocal misgivings, to the care of Mr Baines when it became clear it was beyond Erik's ability to repair without assistance. Insistent he did not travel without a spare, a search of their luggage turned up nothing; instead he found a cloth dog that neither of them could recall packing. Christine suspected an attempt on the part of their daughter to force him to leave his 'sad face' at home.

"Erik," she said now, folding the scarf and putting it aside, "I have been thinking, and I know we've spent a lot of time rehearsing this piece, but it does rather feel as if we are putting in all this effort for nothing."

Swiftly recovering his dignity, he closed the piano lid. "What makes you say that?"

" _Hannibal_ opens tonight; it will seem as though I am trying to copy them."

"That is true," he mused. "We certainly do not want them to imagine you are aping Carlotta. But you told me that Mrs Eckhart had specifically requested the aria."

"It seems that there is very little point in me going to all this trouble for Mr Eckhart when the object of his admiration is appearing in the same role only a mile or two from his front door," Christine replied. "My performance would come across as second best."

"Christine, nothing you sang would ever be second best," Erik told her sharply, before adding in a more even tone, "However, I do take your point. Perhaps we should suggest a different song."

"You won't get approval in time," Meg said, idly flicking through one of the bound volumes of magazines that were neatly stacked on the coffee table. "Teddy told me Mrs Eckhart is out of town until Christmas Eve. Visiting one of her daughters , I think; the one who married an earl and is living in a castle in Scotland."

Erik's eyes narrowed; he tapped one long finger against his chin. "Has her husband gone with her?"

Meg shrugged. "Probably, I don't know. Teddy isn't happy; she's being bombarded with instructions by telegram at all hours. The old dragon is treating her like a servant! Now she's complaining that the flowers aren't suitable; not festive enough, apparently."

"What are you thinking, Erik?" Christine asked.

"Hmm? Oh, nothing of consequence, my dear." He flashed her a swift smile.

"I haven't offended you by wanting to sing something else, have I? We've put in a lot of work, after all; I don't want you think you've wasted your time."

"Your voice is all that matters to me," he replied. "The choice of music is immaterial. I was never all that impressed with Chalumeau, as I am sure you are aware, but for you I would endure the worst composer the world has to offer."

"Including Arthur Sullivan?" Meg enquired with a grin.

Erik gave her a hard stare. "Even I have my limits." He turned to Christine. "What were you thinking of singing in place of the _Hannibal_ piece?"

"I hadn't really had time to consider it," she admitted, "But it _is_ meant to be a Christmas concert; I thought a carol of some sort would be more appropriate. We could always dress it up into something more impressive."

"And I suppose you were expecting me to undertake a short-notice arrangement of whichever song you chose..?"

"Well, you _are_ a musical genius, my love," Christine told him.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," he said sternly, but looked pleased nonetheless.

"That's funny; it always has done before," Christine said, smiling sweetly at him. "Many, _many_ times..."

Meg got up. "I think I'll leave you two alone," she announced, heading for the door. Before she could reach the hall, however, a small shape in a green wool dress and white pinafore barrelled through the opening, followed at a far more sedate pace by Madame Giry; Allegra flew across the room to latch onto her father's legs, nearly knocking him over. Righting himself with the aid of the piano, Erik lifted her up and sat her on the lid, straightening her lacy collar with a couple of deft tugs.

"And to what do we owe this intrusion, Mademoiselle?" he enquired. There was what appeared to be paint on her cheek; with a sigh he found his handkerchief and scrubbed at it while she tried to squirm away. "Whatever have you been doing?"

"Grandmére Giry has been helping me make cards for Noël," she said proudly. "She let me paint them all myself. _And_ she taught me a song."

Erik glanced back at the ballet mistress, eyebrow raised. "Did she indeed? That is _most_ unusual for Grandmére Giry."

"Which one?" asked Meg. "The painting or the singing?"

"Which song did she teach you, darling?" Christine asked, before Madame could respond to her daughter's teasing.

"This one!" Allegra swung her legs and began in a piping little voice,

" _Il est né le divin enfant,_

_Jouez hautbois, résonnez musettes!_

_Il est né le divin enfant,_

_Chantons tous son avènement_!"*

" _Depuis plus de quatre mille ans,_

_Nous le promettaient les prophètes._

_Depuis plus de quatre mille ans,_

_Nous attendions cet heureaux temps,"_ **

Christine continued, unable to help joining in. She jumped up to stop her daughter tumbling to the floor as Erik returned to the piano stool; barely a few seconds later he had found the tune, embellishing it to accompany them while Meg beat time on one of the sofa cushions.

" _Ah! Qu'il est beau, qu'il est charmant!_

_Ah! Que ses graces sont parfaits!_

_Ah! Qu'il est beau, qu'il est charmant!_

_Qu'il est doux ce divin enfant!_ "***

Christine guided Allegra through the rest of the song, taking over occasionally when the little girl stumbled over the words; they finished the final chorus together, bolstered on the last lines by Erik's lyrical tenor:

" _Il est né le divin enfant,_

_Jouez hautbois, résonnez musettes!_

_Il est né le divin enfant,_

_Chantons tous son avènement!_ "

"Lovely!" Meg cried, and her mother nodded in agreement. "When this rotten concert is over we _have_ to sing carols on Christmas Eve. Erik, you'll play for us, won't you?"

He inclined his head. "For you, Marguerite, I would be delighted."

"What are you going to sing, Meg?" Christine enquired. Allegra's arms snaked around her neck and she set her back down on the floor.

"I don't know. Maybe I'll surprise you," Meg told her with a wink. She turned as the door opened again and Theodora entered, taking off her gloves. "Did you hear them, Teddy? They sounded wonderful!"

"I heard," Teddy replied. She sat down heavily, waving a vague hand towards the sideboard and the drinks tray. Madame Giry pursed her lips but bustled off nevertheless to pour her a glass of brandy. "I wish I'd engaged the family Claudin for this blasted show; it would make things _so_ much easier!"

"Another command from the dragon?" Erik asked. "What does she want this time?"

"Oh, it's not her for once. The whole thing is a shambles." Teddy took a sip of her drink. "Tell me: what would you do with a self-proclaimed soprano who can barely hit a note above middle c?"

"Sack her," he replied bluntly.

"I can't; she's Mrs Eckhart's best friend. You see what I'm up against?" she entreated the room at large. "It's the final rehearsal in two days and it's still like amateur night at the music hall!"

"I think you're taking it all too seriously," Meg observed. "If all you have are a bunch of people who only _think_ they can perform, then let them get on with it. You can't change whether they're any good or not."

"She's right," Christine agreed. "You didn't choose the acts; Mrs Eckhart did. If it doesn't work it's not your fault. You're doing your best."

"That's true." Theodora sighed. "I suppose at least in you I've got one person I know will be rehearsed and ready. Before the audience has had time to process how bad the rest is you can charm them all with that _Hannibal_ thing so it won't be a complete disaster. Maybe when her Henry's been sent over the moon by his favourite song the old battle-axe won't be too critical of the rest. I can only hope."

"Yes." Christine's gaze fell on the scarf lying on the armchair and an image of Carlotta triumphantly taking to the stage that evening swam before her eyes. "That's all anyone can do."

* * *

"Once more, Christine; a pirouette there, now bow! That's it! You have it!"

Madame Giry looked pleased as she watched her former pupil move across the polished floor of the ballroom, the scarf in her hands like a partner in her dance. They were having a last practise before the official final rehearsal of the entire show that afternoon, without music as Erik had gone out, taking Meg with him for some reason he wouldn't divulge; Christine thought that she had been through the steps so many times over the last few days that she could probably follow them in her sleep, even without accompaniment. She paused for the instrumental break, and Madame adjusted the set of her head just slightly to a more regal angle.

"You are a queen, after all," she said with a smile. "Are you nervous?"

"Terrified," Christine admitted, sitting down so she could remove her ballet slippers. "I used to feel sick before a performance even when I was on stage every night. It never seems to get easier."

"I remember. You would always be white and shaking in the wings but the nerves disappeared once you stepped before the audience."

The shoes lay on the parquet, ribbons spiralling over them. Christine wiggled her toes, recalling all the time she used to spend sewing the ribbons on, usually stabbing herself more than once with the needle in the process. "I could see box five," she said wistfully. "I knew my angel was watching."

Madame Giry bent to pick up the slippers, gathering them and the discarded scarf. There was another piano here, just as magnificent as that in the drawing room, and she laid them on the lid. "Where is Erik? He vanished very early this morning."

"He's gone to see if the Old Court have my costume, I think. I don't know what he needs Meg for; he wouldn't say, just that he would be back to help Theodora with the rehearsal. Have you seen his mask?" Christine asked. "Mr Baines brought it last night."

"Indeed I have. It is very impressive; one would think it had never been broken at all."

"It hasn't; the man Mr Baines took it to is a maker of artificial limbs and aids for wounded soldiers," Christine explained. "He managed to piece the broken mask back together and took a mould to make a new one. It's lighter and the lining is a softer leather. Erik's very pleased; he said he always meant to work on something similar but never found the time."

"It is a shame he feels the need to wear it," Madame Giry remarked with a sigh.

"Maybe one day he will stop. I know Allegra would prefer it. But for the moment it gives him confidence and that's what is important. He finds it much easier to deal with people when he knows they aren't judging him because of his face."

"Yes, you are quite right, my dear," the ballet mistress agreed, adding, "I have been proud of him, you know, for managing without it these last few days."

"So have I. I was rather worried for a while, especially after what happened at the toyshop, but he has been very brave." Christine looked around for her shoes; after a few moments she realised she had kicked them under the piano. She leant forwards out of the chair, trying to reach them; one was nearly in her grasp when her vision blurred and she felt herself abruptly falling forwards. Throwing a hand out to catch herself, she was immensely grateful when a firm grasp caught her under the armpits, settling her back into her seat. After a few moments the room stopped spinning and she was able to see clearly again. Directly in her vision was Madame's face, mouth in a line and sharp black gaze apparently taking in every detail of her flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair.

"Stay there," the older woman ordered, and disappeared, leaving her alone in the enormous gilded box that was reminiscent of the grand foyer back at the opera. Mirrors lined each wall, bouncing her reflection back and forth and making it appear as though there was an army of swooning Christines with pale faces and dark rings beneath their eyes. At length Madame Giry returned with a steaming cup of tea which she presented to her former charge with a curt instruction to drink it. Reluctantly Christine did, discovering the presence of at least three spoonfuls of sugar, Madame watching her like a hawk to make sure she did as she was told.

When the cup was empty and sitting on the piano, Christine felt a little better. "Thank you," she said, but Madame did not stop looking at her and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"How long have you known?" the ballet mistress asked without preamble.

Christine blinked, confused. "I'm sorry, Madame, I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, for goodness's sake, Christine!" The voice was stern, that same tone and its accompanying roll of the eyes she remembered from her days in the corps. "Do not be obtuse, please. You are quite obviously weary, dizzy, and Meg tells me you have been sick several times since we arrived in London."

"That was just nerves before the performance," Christine insisted. "And I asked Meg not to tell anyone."

"She did not mean to; I caught her on the landing after she went to speak to you the other night and she was too tired to dissemble. _Christine_." Madame Giry's voice softened, and she crouched, taking her by the hand. "This has nothing to do with the concert. You have been here before, and I seem to recall then it was a surprise. I thought that you might have remembered how it felt."

There was a headache pressing against Christine's temples. She rubbed at them, trying to relieve the pain. "It's just a little nausea," she said. "I felt faint for a moment, that's all. I'm better now."

"All the same, I think we should get a doctor to examine you. He will be able to confirm it." Madame straightened, wincing as her dancer's joints protested. "I will speak to Theodora."

Alarmed, Christine started out of her chair. "Confirm what, Madame? What do you think is wrong with me?"

"Oh, my dear girl." Madame Giry shook her head. "Don't you realise you are very probably carrying another child?"

**TBC**

*He is born, the Heavenly child, Oboes play; set bagpipes sounding. He is born, the Heavenly child, Let all sing His nativity.

**'Tis four thousand years and more, Prophets have foretold his coming. 'Tis four thousand years and more' have we waited this happy hour.

***Ah, how lovely, Ah, how fair, What perfection is his graces. Ah, how lovely, Ah, how fair, Child divine, so gentle there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had in mind Annie Lennox's version of _Il est Ne_ , from her album _A Christmas Cornucopia_.


	6. Chapter 6

Two hours later the doctor had been and gone, confirming the diagnosis; and Christine was still trying to digest the information.

"But, my menses haven't stopped," she had protested, only for Madame Giry to brush the concern aside.

"That can happen. They still came for a while when you were pregnant with Allegra, did they not?" she enquired, and Christine had to agree. Back then she had been virtually ignorant of what it mean to be with child and all the symptoms had come upon her without the requisite information she needed to understand what was happening. This time she should have been more prepared, but somehow they had crept up on her once again, put down to more trivial causes.

"I don't understand," she said. "Erik and I... he'd been so busy... we hadn't... at least, not until we came here."

"Well, you must have done at some point," Madame told her firmly. "Babies have to come from somewhere, after all, and it takes two people to make one. There has only ever been one immaculate conception to my knowledge."

Christine couldn't help laughing, though whether it was from amusement or hysteria she couldn't be sure. "Perhaps I'm not such a bad sailor after all," she remarked, and the ballet mistress smiled.

Now she found herself regarding her reflection in the dressing table mirror, turning from side to side as she tried to detect any difference in her figure. She had told Meg the truth about her growing bust, but that had been larger ever since Allegra's birth. There was a gentle swell to her stomach when her corset was removed that she had not really noticed, but it was not pronounced and had certainly not given her any cause to think that she might be expecting again. Her face was pale, and she pinched her cheeks, trying to stimulate some colour. Had Erik noticed that she looked tired, or had he been too exhausted himself lately to pay much attention to her appearance?

"Some women don't show," Teddy remarked from where she sat on the bed. "Not at first, anyway. One of my sisters was like that."

"I should have guessed," Christine admitted, crossing to the wardrobe for something clean to wear. "I just put the way I was feeling down to worry about Erik."

"Easily done, I guess, but from now on he'll have to take care of you. No more working at the opera until all hours! It's about time the two of you were together more often." Teddy grinned. "I can't wait to see his face when you tell him!"

Christine pulled out the first dress that came to hand. "I'm not going to tell him yet, so please don't say anything," she begged. "There's too much going on at the moment; I don't want to burden him with anything else."

"Why should it be a burden? The man should be over the moon to find out he's going to have another little one to fuss over!"

"There are... issues." When Theodora just looked at her, Christine sighed heavily. "He hasn't said anything and we haven't been deliberately trying not to have any more children but I know he worries. Allegra is perfect but there will always be a chance that other babies might inherit his deformity. And then there is _my_ heritage: I was my mother's second child and she died giving birth to me."

"Christine." Teddy stood, coming over to rest her hands on her friend's shoulders. "We can't predict the future. There was uncertainty before Allegra was born but she turned out to be absolutely fine, and so were you. There is no reason why history should repeat itself, or that when one child is spared another would automatically be scarred. No one knows what might happen, and no one can control it."

"Yes, I know. I keep telling myself the same thing, but it's difficult sometimes."

"I understand. Sometimes I wish I owned a crystal ball," Teddy admitted. "If I had one I would never have taken on this concert; I could have seen what was going to happen and run screaming in the opposite direction!"

Christine laughed, stepping into her dress. "I thought Erik was helping you?"

"He is; he's down there now, trying to knock the orchestra into shape. Well, I say orchestra; it's more of a string quartet with a few extras. And yes, I know he's not meant to be doing it," the little diva added quickly, "But you try telling him that when he's got the bit between his teeth; I wouldn't dare. I only hope he hasn't made Mrs Stanford cry; she was looking terrified earlier when he questioned whether she was quite sure she'd brought the right music with her."

"I suppose I had better come down and keep an eye on him. I know my piece backwards but it helps to find out where I fit in with the rest."

"Sure you feel well enough? You can pull out, you know; you have good reason." Teddy pulled the back together as Christine wriggled into her bodice, deftly buttoning her up. "I don't give a fig what Mrs Eckhart says."

"I'll be fine," Christine assured her. "Besides, Erik would worry and won't the dragon be angry if her husband doesn't get to hear his song?"

"I'm getting to the point where I'm past caring," Teddy told her bluntly. "Tomorrow it will all be over, and then it is my intention to eat and drink myself into a stupor that lasts until Twelfth Night! Want to pour the wine for me?"

"Only if you let me have a glass first."

"Done! Come on," Theodora said, slipping her arm through Christine's. "Let's go and find out how many casualties there are. When I left Madame was trying to get those three Johnson girls from Boston to move in time; with Jimmy having to act as translator it wasn't exactly going swimmingly."

* * *

The orchestra could be heard upstairs as they worked their way through a tune Christine didn't recognise; by the time they approached the ballroom the music was undercut by a rumble of general conversation, the universal sound of people becoming bored.

A surprising number were seated around the walls, some clutching scores, others apparently there as chaperones or moral support. In one corner a troupe of children were reciting a poem under the supervision of Martha Speedwell, Teddy's companion; in another Madame Giry was indeed attempting with Meg's assistance to show three rather awkward teenagers how to walk gracefully as they sang. Madame was looking frustrated and James's expression suggested he was desperate for a brandy, cigar or both. There was a pair of violinists and someone with a trumpet; a ladies' choir and several soloists, one of whom, a mousy-looking woman in pale green, was shooting occasional glances towards the piano where Erik sat giving instructions to the musicians while on the makeshift stage a blonde girl was singing something about the boy she loved being up in the gallery. It was the kind of partially organised chaos that Christine remembered well from her days at the opera house, when the tension before a performance had been both terrifying and electric; she crossed the room towards her husband feeling more energised than she had in quite some time.

"What're you doing there, maestro?" Teddy asked. "You're meant to be producing, not performing!"

He shot her a dark look. "As you can see, the pianist Mrs Eckhart hired has not arrived, so I have been forced to step in."

"I hope you haven't frightened off any of my acts; you're glowering enough to put the willies up Henry Irving."

"If you mean Mrs Stanford, we have come to a compromise," Erik said, glancing towards the lady in green. She offered him a smile and a wave. "I have transposed the piece into a lower key, one which she _can_ sing. If she practises it between now and tomorrow night she will do well enough."

Theodora gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Thank goodness for that. I thought you might have sent her running home to hide in a cupboard. Are you ready for Christine now?"

He glanced up at the clock. "I believe we may just have time before the final participant arrives."

"Final participant...?" Christine frowned. "I thought I was to be the finale?"

"You are, sweetie, you are," Teddy assured her, giving her a pat on the arm. "We've arranged a little... coda, that's all. Call it a surprise."

"For me?"

"For Mr Eckhart," the prima donna said with a wink.

"When you are ready, Christine." Erik gestured to the stage. Though to begin with he had been extremely reluctant to become involved, it didn't take long for his perfectionism to take over once he heard some of the acts and he had offered Teddy his services; she accepted with alacrity, practically dragging him into the ballroom. As always, he was much more at home amongst performers than the general public, his focus on the music almost the only thing that enabled him to forget about his appearance and what others might think of him. The sculpting of the new mask was even better than the old; it gave his face a greater symmetry, the frown of the brow a little less pronounced. "I will give you a two bar introduction."

She nodded. He smiled up at her, fingers moving over the keyboard without recourse to the score propped in front of him, and she was surprised when she heard not the opening notes of _Think of Me_ , but those of _Il est né_ , expanded and elaborated from the simple tune Allegra had sung two days before. The words flowed from her almost automatically when the introduction came to an end; she noticed with only half attention that one of the musicians had a drum and was beating it in a complex rhythm as a counterpoint. Before long she was tapping her foot in time, and even added several leaps and trills as she came to the end, finishing with her hands raised towards Heaven in a twist on one of the poses Madame Giry had been making her hold as Elissa.

There was a smattering of polite applause and she bowed briefly before hurrying back to her husband's side. "Erik, what is going on? What happened to the aria?"

Erik opened his mouth to reply but another voice emerged, one that returned her in a moment to the managers' office of the Opera Populaire, the score of _Don Juan Triumphant_ clutched in her hands.

"There she is, the little toad!" it screeched. "I knew it was 'er the moment I 'eard that voice!"

Horrified, Christine span round; striding towards her, a vision in purple velvet with silver fox tails bobbing in her hat, Ubaldo Piangi as ever at her heels, was the ample form Carlotta Guidicelli.

* * *

"I 'eard that Christine Daae was in London, but I didn't believe it," Carlotta said, looking down at her former rival with a patronising smile that had Christine itching to slap her. The Italian diva was wearing more make-up than ever, apparently to try and cover the new lines on her face; close up the brilliant red shade of her hair was far too bright to be real. "No, no, no, I say when they tell me, Christine Daae is a fine lady now. She is engaged to Raoul de Chagny, a proper nobleman, but they were right: the Vicomte, 'e drop you. And 'ere you are." The smile grew wider. "Reduced to singing children's songs in a charity show. Such a pity."

"What are you doing here, Signora?" Christine asked, trying to keep her voice level.

Carlotta laughed; always the sycophant, Piangi did the same. Christine had never understood what the essentially kindly man saw in his unpredictable, stroppy soprano, but she supposed he must love her; they had been together for long enough. "What am I doing 'ere, she asks? What am I doing 'ere? I am singing, that is what I am doing 'ere!" she declared with a toss of her head. "No one cares about your pathetic little performance; they want to see Carlotta, they want to 'ear _my_ voice!"

"I don't think I understand - "

"The producers want me to close this little show," Carlotta told her, poking Christine in the chest with a magenta fingernail. "It is in need of a bit of... 'ow shall we say, class?" She glanced around the amateur performers gathered in the ballroom with obvious contempt. They in turn were almost universally staring at her in amazement and it was clear why: overdressed and theatrical, it was as if a creature from another planet had come amongst them. "An' I can see why."

"Perhaps you would take the stage, Signora?" Teddy suggested, only just catching in time the fur stole that was tossed in her direction and narrowly avoiding being hit in the face by one of the fox heads. She looked as though she wanted to throw it straight back. "We have time for one rehearsal - "

The former prima donna gave her a haughty glare. "I need no rehearsal. I sing this for a week in Paris, and in Milan. And again in London the last two nights."

"Even so, we have musicians, we would be grateful for a quick run through - "

"I do not 'ave to do this," Carlotta snapped. "I do as a favour." She pointed to Jimmy. "'E comes to me and says I 'ave an admirer who wants me to sing for 'im; I say no, Carlotta does not do silly little _concerto_ but 'e tells me this one is a very rich man, and 'e can get me to the opera 'ouse in New York and so I agree. I leave my understudy to go on stage for me to come 'ere and be told I must rehearse! It is an insult!"

Christine could see Theodora clenching her fists; she could understand her friend's frustration and was desperate to ask why Carlotta had been invited to join the cast. "I apologise, Signora," Teddy said through gritted teeth. "But if you would deign to sing a few lines for our pianist as he has never accompanied you before...?"

"Cara, perhaps just a little?" Piangi murmured. "Think of the new start. Think of _America_..."

"Very well. I sing one verse," Carlotta conceded. She looked around, and finding Erik at the piano her eyes widened in surprise. Christine held her breath; even though he had been glimpsed only as a fleeting shadow on the night of _Il Muto_ , his voice the sing-song tones of the Phantom, he had still been the one to make Carlotta croak, humiliating her in front of a packed audience. Would she make the connection? Carlotta's gaze lingered on the mask, but she merely huffed derisively. "Eh. I see this really is for charity; they take in all kinds of waifs and strays 'ere," she said. "Do you know my aria?"

"I believe I have heard the tune," Erik replied with remarkable restraint. "Will four bars be sufficient?"

"Quite sufficient," Teddy told him firmly.

Ignoring the stage, Carlotta positioned herself in the centre of the floor, one hand raised and eyes fixed on the middle distance with what she evidently intended to be a wistful gaze. It did not have the intended effect, making her look more as though she was struggling with trapped wind. She waited for Erik to finish the introduction before raising her voice: " _Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye. Remember me, every so often, promise me you'll try..."_ It was a voice that had dropped considerably over the past few years and struggled with the key but she pressed on, turning on the spot like a ballerina on a musical box. _"On that day, that not so distant day, when you are far away and free, If you happen to remember, spare a thought_ – aah!" She came to a halt with a sharp when there was a loud change in pitch from the piano; glaring she turned to Erik who looked vaguely apologetic.

"My foot slipped on the pedal," he explained and there was a snigger from Meg's direction.

Carlotta waved a dismissive hand. "Is no matter. I am done 'ere, but if you do that tomorrow I make it very hot for you, _capisci_?"

"Oh, I understand perfectly, Signora."

" _Bene_. Well, I go. Ubaldo!" Piangi came scurrying to her side. She surveyed the assembled company with another of those condescending smiles. "You are all very lucky to 'ave Carlotta in your show. She raises it from mediocrity, no?" Without waiting for an answer, she sailed off towards the door, holding out a hand to Teddy for her fox as she passed. "I see you all tomorrow night!"

"Wait, Signora!" Jimmy scrambled after her. "Let me give you the address - !"

"Maestro, I can't believe you talked me into this," Teddy said in a dangerous tone when the doors had banged shut behind them. "That woman - !"

"She is appalling, I agree, but worth enduring for a short time." Signalling to the orchestra to take a break, Erik came and wrapped an arm around Christine's waist.

She looked up at him suspiciously. "But you loathe Carlotta!"

"True," he agreed. "Others, however, seem to be enamoured of her, and I seem to remember Mrs Eckhart saying she had tried to engage the singer her husband had been in raptures over..."

" _You_ are a toad," Christine told him, but he just smiled. "You didn't go to the Old Court for my costume at all, did you?"

"Well..."

"We went to watch a rehearsal," Meg said, having approached with her mother. "It was a mess. Signor Piangi 's voice is still good but Carlotta..." She pulled a face. "Well, you just heard her."

"Marie Durant is in the cast," Erik remarked to Christine's surprise. "She was one of the original princesses, if you recall. Since the Populaire is closed she accepted the last minute offer of work but is eager to return; as you have just discovered, Signora Guidicelli is even more insufferable than ever."

" _That_ was Carlotta Guidicelli?" a voice exclaimed behind them. They all looked round to see Mrs Stanford standing there. "What an unpleasant woman!" she declared, adding as she turned to Christine. "She had no right to insult you in such a manner, Mrs Claudin. And in public, too!"

"Thank you," Christine replied, unable to disagree with either statement.

"And to think that she claims to have such a magnificent voice!" Mrs Stanford glowered in distaste at the spot where Carlotta had been, her earlier nerves apparently fled in the wake of indignation. "My husband bought me tickets for _Hannibal_ as a Christmas present but I shall tell him to return them straight away!"

Erik was obviously trying to hide his amusement; Christine elbowed him in the ribs. "A very sensible course of action," he said, sobering instantly.

The American woman's scowl faded. "Your song was lovely," she told Christine. "You _must_ let me have an English translation so I can teach it to my daughters. They are all coming along with their music and I know it is just the sort of tune they would enjoy singing together. Will your own little one be attending the concert?"

"She is not quite old enough at present," Christine said, slightly bewildered by the sudden effusiveness and wondering how Mrs Stanford knew about Allegra. "But I will ask Erik to note down the arrangement for you. I'm sure he will be very happy to; won't you, dearest?"

"Yes, yes, of course," he agreed after another dig in the side and Mrs Stanford looked as though someone had offered her the Crown Jewels.

"Oh, that would be marvellous!" She waved her score. "And rest assured I shall practise constantly until tomorrow evening to make this perfect for you, maestro," she added with a smile that was now almost flirtatious.

"Thank you," Erik replied, nonplussed, as she hurried away, bidding them all a good evening. "I think."

Meg and Teddy burst out laughing.

"I think _you_ have an admirer, Erik," the ballerina told him.

"I don't know what you did to her while I was upstairs, but I wouldn't let her husband know," Theodora remarked with a grin.

"All I did was assist her with a key change," he protested, but that just set them off again, and this time he looked so affronted that Christine joined in. He raised his eyes heavenward. "Oh, please yourselves."

"Well," Teddy said eventually, "I think this show is as good as it's going to get. Everything from here on in is in the lap of the gods."

Madame Giry raised her eyebrows. "In that case, we had all better pray that the gods are smiling."

* * *

"Christine, are you ready to go?"

"Just a minute!" She checked her appearance in the dressing table mirror one more time, straightening her décolletage, and groped behind for the beaded bag she had left lying on the middle of the bed. It had been a while since she had last attended a function which necessitated full evening dress; thankfully her current condition had not expanded her waistline enough yet for her blue velvet to have become too tight. Satisfied that she looked as well as could be hoped, she hurried out onto the landing to find her husband, indescribably elegant in his white tie and tails, standing in the doorway of the nursery, Allegra clinging to him, arms wound tightly around his neck.

"I want to come too!" she announced, holding on for dear life as Madame Giry tried to prise her away.

"No, petite, not this time," the ballet mistress said. "Come along, now; if you sleep for a while you can stay up to welcome Christmas with everyone else."

Allegra pouted. "Want to go with Papa!"

"Listen to what Grandmére Giry says, my little monkey." Erik gave her a hard stare, one that was usually effective. "Maman and Papa are going out for a few hours; that is all."

"Then why can't _I_ come?"

"Because you are too young, and you would be dreadfully bored," he told her firmly, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "Now, come on; do as Grandmére Giry tells you and get into bed or Pére Noël will _not_ be coming tomorrow morning."

"Now there's a threat that works," Christine remarked when Allegra had scurried off to dive beneath the covers. "It's a shame we can't use it the rest of the year."

He chuckled. "Indeed. Banning visits from the Tooth Fairy would be unlikely to yield the same result. Christine - " Turning, he broke off, his gaze travelling over her to take in the silk roses in her hair, the simple gold necklace clasped about her throat, the low cut of her neckline.

She turned a half pirouette in front of him. "Will I do?"

"You look stunning, my dear," he said seriously, collecting his hat and cloak from where he had left them over a chair on the landing and offering her his arm. "But then, to me you never look anything else."

Meg was waiting for them in the hall, almost bouncing with anticipation, already bundled up in her coat, blonde curls decorated with a couple of pink ribbons. "I thought you'd decided not to come," she joked as a footman brought Christine's wrap.

"And why would that be?" Erik enquired.

"Oh, I thought that maybe you wanted some time alone..." Meg began, only to trail off when Christine shook her head.

He didn't appear to notice, too busy putting on his hat. "I think we're all far too involved in this to back out now. Not to mention the fact that a certain American diva of our acquaintance would probably have me dismembered if we didn't arrive." With one fluid motion he threw the cloak around his shoulders, checking it and the angle of the fedora in the mirror before he turned back to them, the jet beads on his collar and shoulders glittering in the light. As always, he looked magnificent, but even so a tiny feeling of trepidation made itself known in Christine's stomach. His style was very distinctive, and with the new addition to the bill, there was a chance he might be recognised.

" _He's here, the Phantom of the Opera_..." Meg sang softly, only for Christine to shush her.

"Is that what you're wearing?" she asked her husband, trying to sound casual.

He spread his hands, glancing down at himself. "That is usually my intention when getting dressed. Why?"

"Oh, no particular reason," she said with a forced shrug. "I just wondered whether you might feel a little... _over_ dressed for such a small gathering, that's all."

"I have standards to maintain, even for an event such as this." Erik glanced at the clock; he extended an arm, gesturing towards the door, and she knew the discussion was over. "Come along, or we will be late and Theodora will never forgive me."

"You haven't told him about the baby, have you?" Meg hissed as they hurried out to where the carriage was waiting. "Are you _going_ to tell him?"

"Of course I'm going to tell him! Don't be so ridiculous," Christine retorted, equally softly. "Are _you_ going to tell me what the two of you were doing yesterday when you went gallivanting around the town?"

Meg looked furtive. "I can't. It's a secret."

"So is this. Don't worry, Meg, I won't keep him in the dark any longer than necessary," Christine promised, just as Erik climbed into the brougham to join them.

"Are you ready?" he asked quietly.

She nodded, taking a deep breath. "As I'll ever be."

"Well, then." He knocked on the roof. "Let's get this farce of an evening over with."

* * *

" _For my military knowledge, though I'm plucky and adventury;_

_Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century;_

_But, still, in matters vegetable, animal and mineral,_

_I am the very model of a modern major general!_ "

As he breathlessly reached the end of the final line James Patterson-Smythe threw his hat into the air with a flourish and bowed deeply to the tumultuous applause from the audience. When he left the stage it seemed even the ends of his moustache were bristling with euphoria.

"Who sounds like a cat in a mangle now?" he asked Erik as he passed the piano.

The former Phantom smiled. "I stand corrected, James," he replied, adding with a grimace, "Though I could wish your choice of music was better."

"Go with what's popular, old man," Jimmy told him sagely with a pat on the shoulder. "The audience always knows best."

"I admit, you sounded all right," Teddy said and he winked at her, bustling past Meg and Christine who were waiting in the corridor which served as a makeshift backstage area. "Maybe next time I won't need to dish out the cheese!"

"All the more for me to eat! I'll go and see if the diva has arrived," he called back; Carlotta, as expected, was fashionably late, not deigning to wait her turn with the rest of the cast. Christine was glad; the less time she had to spend in close quarters with her ex-rival the better.

The house in Mayfair had been a blaze of light as they arrived but any notions that the performers might be welcomed to the party and offered a drink were soon abused when a liveried servant directed them to the tradesman's entrance at the side. Only Mrs Eckhart's close personal friends were allowed in via the front door, and it seemed she regarded anyone else as hired help, even Theodora. Teddy had been incandescent, threatening to turn around and return home, leaving the concert to fend for itself. Unable to blame her, Christine was still grateful when Erik stepped in to calm the prima donna; when she saw the clutch of amateur singers and musicians recruited for the event milling around in the servants' quarters, confused and unsure of themselves, she knew that it would not be fair to let them down.

There was a large audience assembled in the salon, the double doors that led to a further room beyond folded back to allow space for more chairs. Peeking through the curtains which had been erected above a small stage that stood before a massive marble fireplace, Christine spotted Mrs Eckhart herself in the front row, resplendent in copper-coloured satin and displaying rather too much bosom; she fluttered a fan continually, all the better to display the pearl bracelets looped several times over her long white gloves. Beside her was a bored-looking gentleman with a bald head and pointed beard that she assumed must be the opera-loving Henry; every so often he squinted at a pocket watch as though there was another appointment he was eager to attend. His wife ignored him, paying more attention to the couple seated to her left: a smallish man with an enormous moustache and an attractive, dark-haired lady whose beguiling black eyes were watching proceedings with lively interest.

"She did get the Randolph Churchills, then," Theodora observed. "I hope they're prepared for what's to come."

In truth, the show did not start terribly well, the Johnson sisters forgetting their lines and coming to an embarrassed halt in the middle of their song. They stood together, staring out at the audience with no clue what they should do, before Teddy sent Meg, who was not supposed to be in the show at all but would rather hang around behind the scenes than be a spectator, to help them. Thankfully, as Erik looped back to the opening bars and she began again the simple routine Madame Giry had taught them it did not take long for them to catch up, somehow making it through to the end with only one or two minor mistakes. The resulting applause was generous to say the least, but the girls were happy, chattering brightly amongst themselves as they hurried back to their waiting parents.

A mixture of voice and instrumentals followed them, interspersed with readings from _A Christmas Carol_ and the children's recitation of _A Visit From St Nicholas_. The choir of ladies almost filled the little stage when they performed an a capella rendition of _In Dulci Jubilo_ ; they remained to accompany Jimmy in his selection from _The Pirates of Penzance_ , a complicated patter song which he ran through without pause or deviation to the delight of everyone except, probably, the pianist. Christine couldn't help smiling at the pained expression on her husband's face as he forced himself through the piece.

"Who's up next?" Teddy asked now, only for Mrs Stanford to step forward.

She was looking nervous and Christine gave her an encouraging beam as she walked out onto the stage, an unprepossessing figure in dove grey. Glancing towards the piano for guidance she waited as Erik began a light, almost ethereal introduction; at the briefest of nods from him she lifted her voice and launched into _Silent Night_ , the first notes a world away from the strained soprano Teddy had been bemoaning. It seemed that lowering the key of the sheet music she had been trying to use had worked wonders, her mid-ranged notes clear and full when she was no longer trying to push her register much further than it would go. As she left the stage to a resounding ovation Erik smiled approvingly at her and she practically glowed, confidence boosted to the skies. It seemed the Angel of Music had worked his magic once again, and in record time.

"Should I be jealous?" Christine murmured to Meg, who just snorted in amusement.

"No Carlotta," Jimmy reported, as the final reading was coming to a close. "I'll try and get the Old Court on the telephone; find out where she is."

"... _and as Tiny Tim observed: 'God bless us, every one!_ '"

"That's your cue, Christine," Teddy said. "I'll introduce you."

Suddenly panicked, Christine patted her hair, checking none of the curls had come loose. "Oh, dear, I don't think I can go through with this!"

"Of course you can," Meg soothed, brushing down the blue velvet of her train. "You know what to do; you've done it often enough before, and to bigger audiences than this."

"Yes, but I couldn't see them. Here they'll all be just a few feet away, staring at me."

"You'll be fine," Meg insisted. "If you don't want to look at them, look at Erik instead; he's out there too."

"Yes. Yes, you're right. Oh, goodness, I hope I'm not going to be sick," Christine whispered, a hand to her mouth.

The little ballerina looked at her sternly. "If you have to be, do it afterwards," she said. "I'll have a bucket standing by."

Christine couldn't help smiling at that. "Just like we used to in the ballet corps."

"...and now, ladies and gentlemen, I would ask you to welcome on stage a very good friend of mine," Theodora was saying out front, "All the way from Paris, critically acclaimed soprano and former leading lady of the renowned Opera Populaire: Christine Daae Claudin!"

The response was loud and Christine felt herself wilt slightly under the sound. "How am I going to live up to that?" she wondered aloud as the curtain was drawn back and she was standing in front of the cream of Anglo-American society. As she knew they would, the lights were not bright enough to blot out the faces before her; she could see Mrs Eckhart's sharp gaze and her husband's interest as he sat up straight in his seat, watch abandoned and full attention on the stage.

She glanced towards Erik; he counted in the orchestra and the music began; Mrs Eckhart's face crumpled into a frown as she heard a different tune to the one she was expecting. Turning away from the disapproval she could almost feel radiating from the front row, Christine focused on her husband, her gaze meeting his; she kept it fixed there, telling herself he was the only other person in the room, that she was singing just for him. As she made her way through the carol she could almost hear him in her head, pushing her voice and helping it soar to even greater heights.

All too soon it came to an end. There was a heavy pause as the last note died away and she held her breath. Had the audience realised there had been a change to the programme? Were they angry? Mrs Eckhart certainly did not look pleased. Her companions, however, were evidently not of the same mind; to Christine's surprise Lady Churchill got to her feet, smiling broadly, her applause enthusiastic. After a few moments most of the audience followed her lead, Henry Eckhart included, though his wife remained firmly in her seat.

Christine dropped into a low curtsy. Just in her eye line she could see Teddy waving to her from the wings.

"Still no Carlotta!" she hissed, only just audible amongst the noise. "Can you stall them for a few minutes?"

Flustered, Christine tried to protest but the prima donna was gone. She stood there dumbly, the sound of clapping dying away as the spectators shuffled in their seats, readying themselves for whatever was to come next. An expectant hush descended and she tried desperately to think of something, anything, to fill the time. Quite randomly, a very old Latin piece she recalled hearing in church as a small girl in Sweden popped into her mind; turning back to the front of the stage she composed herself, hands folded before her, aware of Erik's confusion as he watched from the piano, hands poised over the keys to accompany whatever she was about to give voice. She shook her head slightly; this time he would not be needed as the carol she had in mind was traditionally performed without music. Directing her gaze towards the ceiling, she began to sing:

" _Gaudete, gaudete!_

_Christus est natus_

_Ex Maria virgine,_

_Gaudete!"*_

The verses were a chant, a faster tempo, and she shifted up a key,

" _Tempus adest gratiae_

_Hoc quod optabamus,_

_Carmina laetitiae_

_Devote reddamus._ "**

When she began the refrain for the second time she tried not to jump in surprise as a deeper voice unexpectedly joined with hers, Erik's rich tones rolling over the words, a robust counterpoint to her soprano. It fell away at the next verse, leaving her alone, clear and strong. By the time she returned for the third more voices, ones she recognised as Meg's and Teddy's and even Jimmy's, had come to bolster the chorus, the sound swelling to fill the room. It was a strange feeling, to be alone on stage but suddenly accompanied by this hidden choir. As she came to the end of the final refrain it seemed that the entire company was singing with her, whether they understood the Latin words or not.

" _Gaudete, gaudete!_

_Christus est natus_

_Ex Maria virgine,_

_Gaudete!"_

Overwhelmed, Christine just stood there as the audience rose to their feet once more. Henry Eckhart had started towards the stage; his wife grasped his arm to hold him back, her expression thunderous. Christine curtsied, turning towards the wings, and was nearly knocked over as Carlotta, in full Elissa costume and make-up, dripping in paste jewels and with her face crumpled in a scowl, came barrelling forwards.

"Enough!" she cried, holding up a hand. "Stop clapping! I am 'ere, and Carlotta finishes this show, not 'er!" She shot Christine a glare. "This is _my_ role; I sing it all over the world! And you! You are not needed no more. Get off!"

Christine was only too happy to oblige, rejoining Meg backstage.

Out in front there was a distinct rumble of disgruntled conversation; the odd loud objection could be heard and several women were muttering behind their fans. Lord and Lady Churchill looked confused; Mrs Eckhart's face cleared, realisation dawning that her wish for the original star of _Hannibal_ had been granted, but her husband's smile dropped away as he sat heavily back in his seat. Carlotta ignored all of this, snapping her fingers at Erik, who mercifully had his back to most of the audience so they could not see his expression.

"My song, now!" she commanded. "An' no mistakes!"

As ordered, the first notes of the aria rippled forth and the queen of Carthage began her lament. While it was not a bad performance as such, probably improved by the small stage and the lack of space for her to strut about as she normally did, there was no denying that Carlotta was long past her best. She trailed her scarf, reached out to her absent lover, but it was all far too much, too overdone. Subtlety was not part of her repertoire and it showed. By the time she reached the end the audience were restless, some gathering their belongings, others already beginning to make their way to the exit. Somewhere deep inside Christine felt sorry for the former diva, wondering whether Carlotta really didn't notice that people didn't want to listen to her any more or if she just pretended in an attempt to save face.

"That's it," said Meg as the music came to an end. Elissa sank to her knees, arms outstretched, accepting the lukewarm applause as though it were a standing ovation. "It's over! Now we can properly start Christmas."

* * *

It took a while for the concert to properly wind up.

They waited while Teddy and Erik thanked the performers, watching in amusement as Mrs Stanford kept the latter's hand for far too long after shaking it, making his ears turn pink. Carlotta sailed serenely through the throng, forcing people to make way for her, ignoring everyone and making a beeline for the Eckharts who were in discussion out in the foyer. Meg beckoned to Christine and the two crept nearer, feeling as though they were ballet rats at the Populaire again, covertly listening to the bickering of the stars.

"I went to a lot of trouble for you, Henry," Mrs Eckhart was saying, "I thought you would be pleased!"

"I tell you, Alice, that woman is _not_ the one I heard in Paris!" her husband exclaimed. "I would have remembered!"

"She was the principal in the Paris production!" she countered. "I had it checked! The other you keep talking about was just a dancer, a nobody!"

"I saw Christine Daae as Elissa! She was marvellous. Voice as clear as a bell... well, you heard her earlier; she sang that French bit, and beautiful it was, too. I would have given anything to hear her sing that aria again." An expression of something akin to ecstasy crossed his face for a moment before he waved an arm, pointing back towards the salon, and asked incredulously, "How could you possibly think I would prefer that – that - "

"Ah, _there_ you are!" Carlotta announced, making him jump. She approached wearing an enormous smile, one hand held out to be kissed, the other clutching the fur wrap that covered her costume. It slipped, whether by accident or design, revealing an expanse of white bosom. Eckhart almost jumped backwards, looking for support from his wife but she had gone. Carlotta did not move, and so he had little choice but to take the proffered hand and raise it to his lips.

"Charmed, Signora," he muttered.

"I am very pleased to meet an admirer of Carlotta," she purred. "They tell me all about you, 'ow much you love me."

Eckhart blinked. "Really? That - that is a surprise," he stammered.

"But of course. They say you want to take me to New York, to sing there." Carlotta fluttered her eyelashes. "I would like that so very, very much."

"Christine? We're done here." She turned, missing the poor man's response, to see Erik behind them in hat and cloak, holding out their coats. He glanced towards the little group in the hall. "I see Carlotta has found her prey."

"Did you know she wanted to go to America?" Christine asked as he settled her wrap around her shoulders.

He shook his head. "No, but the idea of her being a whole ocean away is an appealing one."

"You'd worked out it wasn't her Mr Eckhart wanted to see, though."

"I had my suspicions. I'm afraid that the chance to teach his wife a little humility was too tempting to ignore," he admitted. "Especially after she insulted mine."

"She's not going to be happy," said Meg. "If they're patrons of Covent Garden, won't they make it difficult for Teddy?"

Erik shepherded them both back through the still-busy backstage; the air was buzzing with chatter, the audience now mixing with friends and family who had been in the cast, many of them standing around in their outdoor clothes but evidently reluctant to leave just yet. "I doubt she will be too concerned," he said cryptically.

They stayed and talked for a little longer, Christine surprised to be sought out by Lady Randolph, who it turned out was American but had lived for a while in Paris and was keen to chat about her time in the city. The company at last began to break up, exchanging the compliments of the season and wishes of prosperity for the New Year; Teddy came bustling past as the musicians were saying goodbye, Jimmy hurrying in her wake.

"We'll leave via the front door," she announced as they all fell into step behind her. "I'm told Mrs Eckhart's looking for me and that's an encounter that can definitely wait until after Christmas."

Incredibly, Carlotta was still in the hall, huddling into her fur and looking extremely put out. "My coachman, 'e get lost!" she exclaimed in annoyance. "ʻOw can 'e get lost when 'e bring me 'ere?"

"He's probably caught in traffic," Jimmy told her. "Don't worry; there are queues of carriages everywhere tonight."

She sniffed. "Perhaps." An awkward silence reigned for a few minutes before she looked at Christine and said, "What _did_ 'appen to the Vicomte? Did 'e come to 'is senses at last?"

"Yes," Christine replied. "He joined the navy."

Carlotta laughed. "To get away from you, I suppose! It was ridiculous, a little chorus girl like you setting 'er cap at 'im! 'Ow would you 'ave survived in 'is circles?"

"Actually, he wanted to see the North Pole. I think he'd had enough of the opera; it was far too superficial. He said it was time he lived in the real world."

"Huh! Then 'e 'as fewer brains than I thought." The former prima donna narrowed her eyes. "So who - "

"Miss Daae! There you are; I've been looking all over for you!" Carlotta glared as she was interrupted; Henry Eckhart was striding across the hall with arms outstretched. "I'm so glad I caught you before you left."

"I think we'll start walking home," Teddy murmured, moving towards the door and pulling Jimmy with her. He tried to protest but she dragged him outside.

"Coward," Meg mouthed.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur," Christine replied hesitantly, not quite sure how to respond as the American took her hand between both of his, shaking it effusively.

"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you," he told her warmly. "It was an absolute delight to hear your voice again; I had no idea you would be here! Your Elissa in Paris back in eighty-one was sublime, _really_ sublime!"

Christine could see Carlotta over his shoulder, staring at them in consternation. "Thank you," she said. "I am very happy you enjoyed it; it was my first performance in a leading role."

"And a most impressive debut it was, too!" Eckhart declared. "I never saw anything like it; you should be very proud. Such a shame you never sang the role again."

"I was a last-minute replacement; naturally I stepped back when the prima donna rightfully reclaimed her role," Christine added quickly, seeing Carlotta open her mouth. Before the diva could argue, she turned towards Erik, who it seemed had been watching the other man with barely-concealed suspicion. "May I introduce my husband, Erik Claudin? He must take some of the credit for my voice, as he trained it."

"Really? Then _you_ must be very proud, sir, very proud." Eckhart offered a hand, which was shaken swiftly, Erik still not entirely comfortable with bodily contact from strangers. "You have done wonders, absolute wonders!"

"I am very gratified you think so," he said. "But Christine was not entirely without input." He glanced down at his wife with a soft smile, which she returned. "The voice _is_ hers, after all."

"Of course, of course. Say..." With a frown, the American peered at the taller man, lips pursed as he took in the mask. Quite suddenly he snapped his fingers, startling everyone. "I thought I recognised you!" Erik stiffened but Eckhart appeared not to notice. "When I heard _your_ voice earlier it rang a bell, but now I've seen your face I remember. It was _you_ singing in _Don Juan Triumphant_!"

"You _saw_ _Don Juan Triumphant_?" asked Meg, wide-eyed.

"Indeed I did, and what an unusual show it was. Very daring; not entirely my sort of thing, but certainly worth seeing!"

"' _Im_?" Carlotta squeaked in astonishment. "' _E_ sang in that – that mess of an opera?" She shook her head. "No, no, no, it was my Ubaldo, ' _e_ 'ad to try and make sense of that horrible score. It was written by someone with no ear for music – none!"

Noticing her husband's fingers clenching, Christine laid a restraining hand on his arm.

Oblivious, Eckhart shook his head. "I didn't really understand the plot, but I remember your voice, sir," he told Erik. "You switched places with the other guy, and then Miss Daae exposed the deception to everyone. At least I think that's what happened. It all got a bit confused after that, and the ending didn't really make sense, but the two of you were outstanding, really outstanding!"

Christine exchanged a surreptitious glance with Meg; her friend was trying not to laugh and she stepped lightly on her toe in an attempt to force her to sober up. It would not do to reveal the truth now.

"It is a lie!" Carlotta exclaimed. "'E was not the star of the show! My Ubaldo worked for weeks trying to sing that - that music that was not music!"

"I sang only one aria, Monsieur," Erik said. "Unfortunately Signor Piangi was taken ill and as the production was new had no understudy." He aimed a pointed look in Carlotta's direction and she clammed up, naturally reluctant to admit that she had walked out in the middle of a show and taken one of the principals with her.

"Even more impressive! You must be a seasoned performer yourself, sir," Eckhart remarked.

"Sadly, no. I am merely a music teacher," Erik corrected, and the other man looked disappointed.

"That's a darn shame; I would have done my best to convince the directors of Covent Garden to offer you both a contract."

"It's very kind of you, but we have too much to keep us in Paris just now," Christine said, and her husband nodded.

Eckhart shrugged. "Well, if you change your mind, or even if you fancy a season in New York, here's my card. I - "

"Henry!" his wife's voice echoed shrilly down the corridor. "The Churchills are leaving!"

He rolled his eyes, but was already moving away, evidently trained into obedience over many years of marriage. "I'll say goodnight, then," he told them all, adding almost as an afterthought, "Merry Christmas!" Passing Carlotta he just nodded, much to her consternation. "Signora Guidicelli."

"We'd better be going, too," Erik said quietly as the front door opened to admit Ubaldo Piangi. The overweight tenor was wheezing, as though he had just run up the street.

"Cara, the carriage is here," he announced to Carlotta. "We will 'ave to walk, though; it is stuck in Park Lane."

Incensed, she launched a volley of Italian at him which he desperately tried to counter, only to be battered down. With a huff, she flung her fur around her shoulders and stalked towards the exit. Before she reached it, however, she stopped beside Erik, staring boldly up into his face; her gaze seemed to avoid the mask, instead lingering on the good side for a length of time that bordered on the intrusive. He just looked back, expression impassive, and Christine held her breath, expecting at any moment the realisation that Carlotta had seen him somewhere before.

Surprisingly, the diva just turned, lips lifted in amusement. " _You_ married ' _er_?" she asked Erik with a peal of laughter, pointing at Christine. " _That_ skinny little thing?" She sniffed. "There is no accounting for taste, I suppose."

With this pronouncement and a final toss of the head, she vanished through the doorway and into the night. Piangi smiled uncomfortably for a moment before an angry shout galvanised him into following.

"No," Erik agreed, watching as Carlotta's put-upon consort hurried away. "I suppose not."

**TBC**

*Rejoice, rejoice!

Christ is born

Of the Virgin Mary –

Rejoice!

**The time of grace has come –

What we have wished for

Songs of joy

Let us give back faithfully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to hear Gaudete I recommend checking out Steeleye Span's version on Youtube.
> 
> Lyrics to _I am the Very Model of a Modern Major General_ by WS Gilbert.


	7. Chapter 7

It was after eleven and Madame Giry was waiting for them with a sleepy Allegra when they returned.

Christine offered to take her daughter back to bed but the little girl shook her head, rubbing at her eyes and insisting that she was awake. In the drawing room Teddy and Jimmy were already making inroads on a tray of mulled wine; Meg accepted a glass eagerly despite a disapproving glance from her mother. Gratefully Christine and Erik took possession of the sofa, Allegra curling up between them; the wine was pleasantly warming after their cold walk home, the duke's carriage still stuck somewhere in the press of traffic.

"Oh, look!" Meg exclaimed as she twitched back the heavy velvet curtain. "It's snowing again."

Teddy kicked off her shoes and stretched her stockinged feet towards the fire. "The perfect end to a perfect evening."

"You have a very different definition of perfect to mine, Theodora," Erik remarked with a raised eyebrow, and she laughed.

"Oh, I don't know. Mrs Eckhart is absolutely furious, at me _and_ her husband, and that's no bad thing."

Christine frowned. "Do you actually _want_ her to be angry with you?"

"Well, it makes things rather easier for me." Teddy said, with a glance at her manager.

"If Mrs Eckhart complains to the directors of Covent Garden about Teddy - and she will, believe me - it gives her a valid reason to ask to be released from her contract," Jimmy explained. "The management won't be so keen to employ her if they think she's not popular with the patrons."

It must have been the fact that she was tired that made Christine so confused. "But why would you want to be released?"

"Because Louise Labouchiere has walked away, claiming she was employed to sing, not sit around and twiddle her thumbs," said Erik. Allegra snuggled up against him, thumb in her mouth, and he stroked her hair. "Marigny and Fontaine face being left without a prima donna when the opera reopens and they want Theodora back."

"At any price," Jimmy added.

"So you'll be coming back to Paris...?" Christine asked.

"Certainly will, sweetie! Nice as it's been here, and accommodating though the people at Covent Garden are, I've been missing you all too much," Teddy told her with a grin. "I think I can afford to hitch my star to the Populaire for a while longer. And I'm very interested in this new Chalumeau I've heard so much about: _Cleopatra_ , wasn't it? Who wouldn't want to get their teeth into a role like that?"

Erik rolled his eyes. "Wait until you've heard the music."

"And Marius as Marc Antony," Meg added, and he nodded in agreement.

Teddy's brows rose and her smile widened. "I can't wait."

It was rather strange not to be having the traditional Christmas Revellion, the feast at midnight following a church service, but it was a case of when in Rome and Christine didn't find she minded all that much. The fire was warm, and as they talked, although she tried valiantly to stop it she found her head nodding, the rumble of voices fading into the background. The next thing she was aware of was Erik crouching in front of her, shaking her gently, a fond smile on his face. "It's midnight," he said, and she realised the clock on the mantelpiece was chiming. "Merry Christmas."

"Oh, my goodness." She sat up straight and realised Allegra was blinking too, lifting her head out of her mother's lap. "You shouldn't have let me fall asleep!"

"You both looked so peaceful I didn't have the heart to wake you before." He stood, taking Allegra when she held out her arms to be picked up, and offered a hand to Christine. As she glanced around she realised the others were grouped around the piano, and the members of staff who hadn't yet gone to their beds were there as well, glasses of wine in their hands. Much to her surprise, Jimmy was seated on the piano stool, a cigar between his teeth and glass of cognac on the lid.

"What?" he asked when Erik looked at him in disbelief. "I can play this thing."

"He can play one tune," said Teddy. "And that one not very well."

"I've never seen you touch an instrument before," Erik objected, at which Jimmy winked and cracked his knuckles loudly.

"Ah, but I've never needed to. The only tune I can play is a Christmas carol," he said, running a hand dramatically up the keyboard.

Madame Giry winced. "I hope the rest of it isn't like that."

"No," Theodora told her with an authority evidently born of experience. "It's worse."

"Oh, yea of little faith," Jimmy complained around his cigar before launching with great élan into a drunk-sounding version of _Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly_. Erik's expression was one of extreme discomfort, his delicate musical sensibilities offended, and Christine couldn't help laughing. There were giggles from some of the maids as the tune ploughed on, one wrong note after another; there were so many of them that it seemed Jimmy would have to be able to play well in order to perform so badly.

"See," said Teddy. "Told you."

"Oh, come on," Meg responded with a grin, "It's not _that_ bad."

"True, but the human ear can only stand so much. Oh, Maestro, come and play something decent!" Teddy called when she could take no more. With an amused sigh, Erik passed Allegra to Christine; as he did, she reached up to his mask, lifting it away from his face. He froze, instinctively raising a hand to stop her, only for her to say,

"No, Papa, no sad face. You have to be _happy_ at Christmas, God says so."

"She's right," Christine agreed. He just stared at her, the mask half on, and then she realised he was actually looking at something over her shoulder. She turned slightly to see Baines and Margaret standing there with the rest of the staff. Margaret was smiling broadly while the butler respectfully inclined his head, the merest hint of a twitch around his lips. When Christine returned her gaze to her husband, he had removed the mask completely, laying it down on the piano. He stood there for some moments, face bare, as though waiting for the inevitable scream, but it never came.

Jimmy got up, stepping away from the stool. "All yours, Erik," he said with a bow.

Slowly, Erik sat down in his place. They all waited as his long fingers trailed up and down the keyboard, a snatch of this tune, then that, before a determined look came over his twisted features and to everyone's surprise he began an even more accomplished combination of sharps and flats than Jimmy had done, the whole sounding just right enough for it to be recognisable while at the same time completely wrong. Christine had never heard him play anything so utterly absurd in all the time she had known him, something which in his Phantom days would have been far beneath his dignity, but he seemed to be enjoying it, smiling as Allegra began to laugh, clapping her hands together in delight. Christine let her go and she ran to the piano, climbing up onto the stool beside her father. One hand still on the keys, Erik drew her onto his knee and let her add the odd random note of her own.

"Erik, that is ridiculous," Madame Giry scolded, even though her usual stern demeanour was cracking. "You are playing all the wrong notes!"

"On the contrary," Erik said with perfect seriousness, "I am playing all the right notes. The order I put them in is entirely subjective."

"Maman, it's _supposed_ to be silly," Meg said with a roll of the eyes. "It's Christmas!"

"Perhaps, but there is another side to the day," her mother reminded her. "We should be giving thanks as well as indulging ourselves."

In response, the tempo of the music slowed, becoming more serious. Christine recognised the tune. Erik looked at her, mismatched eyes bright. "Thank you for singing tonight. Will you do so again?"

She smiled. "Of course. Teddy, will you join me?" she asked. "And Meg, you too."

The little diva bustled over, wine glass in hand. "Always happy to oblige. Which words are we singing; French or English?"

"English, I think; the tune is French. Do you know them, Meg?"

"I'll pick it up," Meg assured her. "I know the chorus, anyway."

"Shall I begin?" When they both nodded, Christine took her place in the curve of the piano as the introduction came to an end and raised her voice in praise:

" _Angels, from the realms of glory_

_Wing your flight o'er all the earth_

_Ye who sang creation's story_

_Now proclaim Messiah's birth_

_Gloria in excelsis Deo!_

_Gloria in excelsis Deo!_ "

For the refrain Teddy and Meg joined her, the prima donna managing to sustain the soaring eighteen notes of the sequence rather more easily than the ballerina, though Meg put in a valiant effort. Instinctively they each took a verse, one after the other, until they reached the last, upon which they were joined by the voices of everyone in the room. Erik's was distinct amongst them and Christine found herself with eyes for no one but him; seeing their daughter in his lap and knowing that another product of their love was growing within her she put her all into the final words:

" _All creation, join in praising_

_God the Father, Spirit, Son,_

_Evermore your voices raising,_

_To th'eternal Three in One_

_Gloria in excelsis Deo!_

_Gloria in excelsis Deo!_ "

* * *

It seemed as though Christine had barely closed her eyes when there was a tapping on the bedroom door. What time had they gone to bed? She remembered more carols in the drawing room, _The First Noel_ and _God Rest ye Merry Gentlemen_ , and then Jimmy had insisted on dancing with her to the strains of _Under the Mistletoe_ while one of the footmen accompanied the piano on the mouth organ. There had been toasts and Christmas wishes and Teddy got tipsy and it felt as though morning must be breaking by the time they ascended the stairs. Had she even got any sleep?

The tapping came again.

"Maman? Papa!" a little voice called and beside her she heard Erik groan. Glancing over she saw that he had not even moved in the night and was still laying face down where he had landed when they came to bed.

"Your daughter wants you," he mumbled into the pillow.

" _My_ daughter?" Christine repeated. "She's your daughter, too."

He rolled away from her, pulling the blankets up to his chin. "Not at six o'clock in the morning, she's not."

"Maman?" The door opened a crack and there in a bright patch of light from the landing was Allegra in nightdress and warm woollen robe, Clothilde behind her stifling a yawn; she had evidently awoken her nanny even earlier. "Are you awake?"

"No," Erik said distinctly, and Christine pinched him, making him yelp.

"You _are_ awake!" Allegra flew into the room, jumping onto the bed. "Merry Christmas!"

"I'm sorry, Madame," Clothilde said, but Christine just smiled tiredly, taking hold of her daughter.

"It's all right, Clothilde," she replied. "Go back to bed; we'll look after her."

The maid withdrew gratefully as Allegra shook her father by the shoulder. "Papa! It's Christmas morning!" she told him.

He sighed, turning over. "I know, petite. It was when I went to sleep."

"Allegra, it's not even light outside," Christine told her gently.

"That doesn't matter," Allegra said with the conviction of the very young. "There were sweets in my shoe so Pére Noël must have been, mustn't he?"

"If he has any sense at all, he will still be in bed," Erik observed, sitting up and reaching for the lamp. He ran a hand over his hair, trying to flatten it into some semblance of order. Christine bit back a laugh; there was a crease from the pillow right across the left side of his face. "I suppose it would be useless to tell you to go back to sleep until dinner time?" he enquired of his daughter. She nodded vigorously.

Christine hid her smile behind her hand. "I think we have to accept that it's time to get up."

* * *

A few minutes later they were down in the drawing room. Although Teddy had given the staff leave to take longer in the morning, evidently someone had expected them to be up as there was already a fire going that took the edge off the chill and in the corner the Christmas tree twinkled magically, all its candles alight. In their absence a pile of brightly wrapped gifts had appeared on a table beside it, the parcels heaped so high they threatened to topple over. Allegra's eyes were huge as she beheld the presents.

"Pére Noël must have been very busy!"

"Indeed he must," Erik agreed. "Why don't you see if any of them are for you?"

She did not need to be told twice, hurrying over to the table. Standing on tiptoe she turned each parcel over carefully, looking at the tags for her name; at last she found two, both exactly the same size and shape, and brought them back to the sofa where her parents were trying not to fall asleep. "May I open them?" she asked hopefully, and at a nod from her father fell to tearing away the paper with enthusiasm.

Christine frowned. "I thought I asked you to buy her just the one doll?" she said, keeping her voice low.

"There was another that caught my fancy," he replied as Allegra opened the first box to reveal the blonde ballerina from Palmer's shop.

"You remembered to tell him!" she cried happily. "Wait until I show Tante Meg I have a doll just like her!"

"I should open the other one first," Erik suggested. She looked confused, and he pointed to the other box. Carefully lifting the lid, she gasped as she discovered nestled inside pink tissue paper another ballerina, this one with dark brown curls and eyes and a pale blue tutu.

"She looks like Maman!" Allegra exclaimed, lifting out the doll so that her mother could see. Christine took it from her; the features had been sculpted with minute attention to detail and looked vaguely familiar.

"I took Mr Palmer your photograph," Erik said softly and she realised that the ballerina's face was indeed her own. "I think he is a craftsman of some considerable skill, don't you agree?"

"I do, but why?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Tante Meg needed a companion, and there was no doll already in the shop that could match you. By the way, as a thank you for his assistance there will be a rather large box of toys following us back to Paris; that elephant gun was extremely well-timed." Before she could respond he leant down to Allegra. "Sweetheart, there is a small package on the table with Maman's name on; would you fetch it for me?"

She did, delivering it proudly and climbing up onto the settee to see what was inside. Christine unwrapped it while they both watched, discovering a velvet jeweller's box. She cast a glance at Erik and he said,

"I hope you like it; Meg was kind enough to give me her opinion and she believed it would be suitable. Unfortunately we were unable to persuade the shopkeeper that I was not buying it for her; he remained convinced that either she was my wife or my fancy woman, much to her amusement."

"So _that's_ why you took her out with you the other day!"

"Of course; why else would I have asked her to accompany me?" He shot the box a pointed look. "Are you going to open it?"

"Yes, Maman, open it!" cried Allegra, bouncing excitedly.

Christine did, and within she found a ring, three delicate bands of gold linked together by diamonds and sapphires. Astonished, she turned to Erik. "I don't - "

"It is an eternity ring," he said, taking the box from her. Almost automatically she held out her hand; he slipped the ring onto her finger, nestling it there next to her wedding band. "I wanted to say thank you for suffering my moods and insecurities. I know I am not the... easiest person to live with."

"Maybe not, but I would want no one else." She lifted her free hand to brush his cheek, and he smiled.

"Of course, this does now mean you are bound to me for all eternity," he told her in a dangerous tone. "There is no escape."

She laughed. "I thought I pledged that the first time." Holding out her hand she regarded the ring, watching the gems wink softly in the firelight. "It's beautiful; thank you."

"I'll tell Meg she has impeccable taste, then, shall I?"

"Yes. Though it will probably go to her head." Christine reached up to peck him on the lips before she admitted, "I do have a gift for you but I'm afraid I wasn't able to wrap it."

His eyebrow arched. "Oh? Is it so very large?"

"Not exactly." She took hold of his hand and he frowned as she guided it to her stomach, resting it there on the slight swell that was all she so far had to feel. "It's in here, and you won't be able to open it for a few months yet."

"Christine," he said slowly, meeting her gaze, "Does this mean..?"

She nodded. For a long moment he just stared at her, eyes wide, and then suddenly she was in his arms, being tightly embraced. Relief flooded through her as he held her to him for a long time, until at last he drew away, tilting her chin up with one long finger and kissing her gently.

"Do I take it you're happy, then?" she asked, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Ecstatic," he murmured. "I'd begun to think there really _was_ something wrong with me, that Allegra was some kind of fluke - "

"There's nothing wrong. This angel just took a little longer to get here, that's all."

"What angel?" Allegra's voice reminded them that they weren't alone.

Christine sat back, Erik's arm still around her waist, and drew her daughter on to her lap. "You're going to have a little brother or sister," she said. "Won't it be nice, to have someone to play with?"

Allegra frowned. "I don't have to let them play with my new dolls, do I?"

"Not just yet. They won't be big enough for quite a while."

She seemed to consider this, gnawing on her thumb, before at last she nodded. "I suppose it's all right, then."

"Thank goodness for that," Erik said, amused. "This is one Christmas present it would have been very difficult to return."

"Ah, so you _are_ up!" Meg trilled as she came into the room. She regarded the three of them, curled up together on the sofa in their dressing gowns, and shook her head. "At least, I thought you were; now I'm not so sure. You look as though you should still be in bed!"

"Don't suggest it; Erik will probably go back upstairs," Christine said, glancing at her husband, whose eyes had drifted closed. "Whatever happened to the man who stayed up all night working a few weeks ago?"

"He is completely reformed," he told her. "As I have been told repeatedly of late, there are more important things than the opera."

"I am very glad to hear you say that." Madame Giry had followed Meg and Christine couldn't help blinking in surprise: in a dark blue robe with her hair falling down her back in two waist-length plaits, the ballet mistress looked ten years younger. "It's about time."

Erik didn't move. "And a Merry Christmas to you, too, Annie."

Meg drew back the curtain. It was gradually becoming lighter outside and they could see the garden, covered in a thick layer of fresh snow. Allegra slid from Christine's lap to look for herself. "Can I go out and play?" she asked, nose pressed to the glass.

"Maybe later," Madame said, turning her gently away, towards the Christmas tree. "For now you can help Meg hand out the presents."

The mention of presents reminded Allegra of her dolls. "Tante Meg! Come and see my ballerinas," she insisted, tugging at Meg's hand.

"I thought I heard voices. You people get up far too early," Teddy announced, appearing in a profusion of pink silk and feathers as the real dancer was admiring her toy counterparts. Behind her came a bleary-eyed Jimmy. "What time is it?"

"No time for sensible people to be moving about," he replied, sinking heavily into an armchair and wincing when a log loudly toppled in the fireplace, sending a profusion of sparks up the chimney.

She tutted. "I told you to stop drinking that mulled wine."

"It obviously doesn't mix well with brandy," Erik observed, opening one eye, eliciting a moan from his friend.

Teddy rang the bell. "I'll see if there's anyone around to make you some coffee," she told Jimmy. "Next time, I'm hiding the cognac. I don't think I got a wink of sleep; your snores were earth-shattering."

"Thank you. Any chance of unwrapping the presents quietly?" he pleaded as Allegra trotted past distributing gifts.

They did their best, trying to keep the crackling of paper to a minimum. There were bonbons and candied fruits, handkerchiefs and slippers; some of the results of Madame Giry's knitting became clear when shawls were unwrapped, and socks for Erik and Jimmy. Allegra added a miniature carriage for Cesar to pull, a jigsaw and a collection of fairy tales to her haul; Meg was overjoyed with the new pointe shoes her mother had asked Teddy to procure from a very prestigious shop in the West End.

"Just think," Christine said as she watched her daughter discover a picture book which she took to Theodora, who began to look through it with her. "Next year there will be two."

"I suppose that means I'll get even less sleep," Erik remarked, and she gently smacked his arm.

"I seem to recall that not so long ago a lack of sleep didn't bother you. How many times did I come down to your house to find you'd been up all night, caught by inspiration?"

"Too many. Thankfully, these days I have more to live for than just music. And inspiration strikes at a much more congenial hour." He smiled ruefully. "I think I'm getting old."

"I hope not," she told him with feeling. "I'm going to need you to run after Allegra when I'm too slow to do it."

He frowned. "You know, I'm sure fathers in normal families don't do that kind of thing. Shouldn't I be sitting in an armchair, reading the newspaper while the children bring me my pipe and slippers?" he asked, and she laughed.

"Since when have we ever been a normal family?"

Erik considered that. "Hmm," he said at length. "Point taken."

The coffee was delivered; Madame went to the door to take it and poured a cup for Jimmy, who accepted it with a grateful smile. Humming to herself, Meg wandered over to the piano and hesitantly picked out _I Saw Three Ships_. Teddy had been persuaded by Allegra to sit on the hearthrug, turning the pages of the new book, but both looked up when they became aware of the tune; quietly, mindful of Jimmy's hangover, Teddy began to sing, followed soon after by Allegra's little voice,

" _I saw three ships come sailing in_

_On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day_

_I saw three ships come sailing in_

_On Christmas Day in the morning_."

It was nice, Christine thought as she listened, sitting here with all the people she cared about, just sharing the morning in a way that never happened the rest of the year. She would have been quite happy to remain here all day, just being lazy, for now with nowhere to rush off to and nothing to do.

"Erik," she murmured, her fingers tracing lazy circles over the velvet collar of his dressing gown, "What would you say if I told you I was thinking of returning to the stage?"

His eyes, which in the warmth of the fire had drifted closed again, fluttered open. "I would say that was wonderful, but what about..?" He gestured in the vague direction of her stomach.

"Oh, I don't mean right away; in a year or two, maybe. And just for occasional performances; I don't want to entirely abandon our children."

"And nor should you," he agreed. His forehead creased. "But not so long ago you told me our family was the most important thing in your life. What has changed?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. When we were rehearsing it was like the old days and I realised I miss them. I suppose I just enjoyed having you to myself for a change; it's been a long time."

"Too long." There was a definite gleam in his eye now, one she hadn't seen in a while. "Have you a role in mind?"

"Definitely not Elissa. Or Cleopatra," she added quickly. "I'm tired of singing other people's music. I'd like you to write something for me. An opera."

"An opera..?" Erik just stared at her in surprise for a moment before he chuckled, leaning his twisted cheek against hers. "Are you sure? Remember what happened to the last one..."

"Maybe you could write about that: our story, a grand, gothic romance."

He shook his head. "No, I think that would be deemed far too fantastical for the stage."

"One day, perhaps," Christine said with a smile.

"Perhaps." He gave her a sidelong glance. "When the world is ready for such a tale."

" _Then let us all rejoice again_

_On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day_

_Then let us all rejoice again_

_On Christmas Day in the morning."_

Allegra applauded as the song came to an end. "Another!" she demanded. "Sing another one!"

"Ask your parents," Theodora said, returning to her chair. "Tante Teddy is done for now. I need some of Uncle Jimmy's coffee."

"Would you like to go to Venice?" Erik asked softly, and this time it was Christine's turn to start in surprise. When she just looked at him he raised his lone eyebrow. "I believe I am supposed to have taken you there in the spring..."

"I've been meaning to have a word with Meg about that," she said, shooting her friend a mock glare. Meg, though unaware of the reason, just looked innocent, sitting down beside her mother and draping an arm around Madame's shoulders. Christine turned back to Erik, meeting his gaze seriously. "Do you really mean it? You've been promising to take me there for years."

"Well, I am supposed to be taking a holiday, am I not?" he reminded her.

Though she would like nothing better, concern for him held her back; Venice was a very busy city. "Won't you feel exposed amongst all those people?"

Amazingly, the idea didn't seem to bother him unduly. "We'll go for Carnevale; everyone wears a mask. It will be a few weeks more before the Populaire is open again, and if nothing else it will enable you to answer any questions certain of our friends might have."

"I hope it will be more relaxing break than this one. I don't think the last week has been quite what the doctor had in mind when he told you to rest."

"Bother the doctor," Erik said with feeling, and for once Christine couldn't help but agree.

"Maman! Papa! You're not listening!" Allegra called, a pout on her little face, evidently annoyed that their attention was on each other instead of her.

Immediately Erik looked contrite. "Apologies, petite. What have we missed?" he asked. She got up and climbed onto the sofa, wiggling herself between them.

"You have to sing a Christmas carol," she told him. "It's your turn."

"I don't know many carols, sweetheart. Why don't you ask your mother?" he suggested.

" _Oh, thank you_ ," Christine mouthed as her daughter looked up at her expectantly. "Your father can pick up a tune almost immediately; I'm sure he can manage to join in," she said.

"We'll all join in," Meg added before Erik could object, though Jimmy looked less than enthusiastic. "What's it to be, Christine?"

She regarded the room thoughtfully, taking in the tree, the greenery trailing across the mantelpiece, the wrapping paper crumpled on the floor. With her family and friends around her, the glow of the fire and the twinkling candle light slowly fading against the pale encroach of the morning, and hearing the bells that were ringing all over the city, there could only really be one carol that was appropriate.

" _Sing we now of Christmas,_

_Noel sing we here._

_Hear our grateful praises_

_To the babe so dear._

_Sing we Noel, the King is born, Noel!_

_Sing we now of Christmas, sing we now Noel!_ "

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's your lot!
> 
> Merry Christmas! :)


End file.
